


Tied Up Like Two Ships

by TaliskerMortem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Childhood Sweethearts, Lost Love, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 12:33:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaliskerMortem/pseuds/TaliskerMortem
Summary: The stillness of the night was broken only by the slapping of waves against the hull as the ship turned from her course and away from the naval boat floating beside her. Stiles leant against the gunwale once more and watched the ship fade from sight, breath catching in his throat when he spotted a lone sailor, standing on the deck staring right back at him.Dark hair blowing gently in the breeze and startling green eyes too far away for Stiles to make out but he knew them all the same.OR: The one in which Stiles is a notorious pirate and Derek is a figment of his past that just so happens to be on a navy ship that Stiles commanders.





	Tied Up Like Two Ships

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is actually COMPLETE - I know, I can't believe it either.
> 
> A FEW NOTES: please let me know if there is anything you think needs to be tagged / in this fic Paige is Stiles' sister, we never actually meet her but she is discussed / if you're unfamiliar with how the British aristocracy's titles work, the holder of the title has one title but his eldest son will hold an honorary title / I honestly have no idea how long it takes to sail from the places mentioned so time is a very loose concept in this fic / this is a work of fiction and therefore please don't take anything I write as any kind of historical fact.
> 
> Enjoy! xx

      

      

      

[T i e d   U p   L i k e   T w o   S h i p s](http://taliskermortem.tumblr.com/post/169789969196/t-i-e-d-u-p-l-i-k-e-t-w-o-s-h-i-p-s-s)

**⌘**

  _As long as the sun rises in the east, I will love you._

_As long as it sets in the west, I will be yours._

**⌘**

**_1721_ **

**⌘**

Shoving his way through the unsavory collection of customers in the dingy tavern, Derek finally managed to make his way to the bar where a woman whose bosom was practically overflowing from her corset was laughing uproariously with a couple of weathered drunkards. Waving two fingers in her direction, he succeeded in drawing her attention away from whatever fabricated story one of the men was regaling her with.

“What can I getcha love?” she smiled, eyes running over his civilian clothes in a way that almost made him wish he were still wearing his uniform. Although he was sure that would have meant he had a far less pleasant welcome in a place such as this.

“Two of the house ale, please,” he ordered and watched as her eyebrows rose at his manner of speaking. Whether it was the fact he was actually capably of enunciating his words, or whether it was the ‘please’ on the end that shocked her, he couldn't be certain.

“‘Ere you go love,” she set two tankards on the bar in front of him and he handed her the necessary coin. “You best watch yourself now, this place is overrunnin’ with pickpockets and the like,” she warned before moving on to serve another pair of rowdy sailors.

God, Derek was beginning to hate Port Royal.

Grabbing the tankards and ignoring the whispered mutterings of those he passed by, he heading to the back of the tavern where Isaac had _somehow_ managed to locate a vacant table. Coming out to a place like this was practically asking to be mugged, what the on earth were they thinking.

“Makes the London docks look civilized, doesn't it,” Isaac muttered when Derek passed him his ale. “I honestly thought that bloke was going to run you through when you called the barmaid over.”

“Not the most pleasant of places is, it,” Derek snorted, sipping whatever was in his tankard that tasted absolutely nothing like ale. “Maybe we should have stayed on deck again – or even just gone to your house.”

“Erica is visiting her friend inland at the moment, so the house would have been frightfully empty without her,” the other officer confessed, pulling a face at his own ale. “And I would’ve gone mad if I hadn’t gotten off that bloody ship.”

“I know the feeling – thought the Captain was going to make us swab the deck just for a laugh,” Derek chuckled. “Gets a bit boring, doesn't it, staring at the same faces day in and day out.”

“Wouldn't be so bad if I actually _liked_ more than half the faces,” Isaac muttered darkly and whilst Isaac was not the pillar of optimism he was certainly much better than Derek, so if he was grumbling… well that said it all really, didn't it.

“When they promote me, I’ll make sure to take you on with me,” Derek chuckled, tone light but beneath it was a very real promise. There was only so long people could survive on a ship like _The Deliverance_ before either turning mad or becoming corrupt themselves.

Before Isaac could reply, the jovial air of the tavern suddenly diminished and a strange sort of hush fell over the gathered crowd. Glancing over his shoulder, Derek could vaguely see three figures entering the establishment, people hurrying out of their way as they approached the bar. The same woman who had just served Derek was already putting three glasses of amber liquid on the bar-top for the new arrivals.

Taking the vacated seats at the bar, the three men had their backs to Derek so he could not see their faces. The one on the right had a shock of dark hair and Derek could just make out a crooked jaw, his crimson coat bespoke of wealth not common to these parts and the shine of his boots reflected the flickering tavern light. On the left, the man was dressed less eye-catchingly but no less expensively in a set of black breeches and a doublet, cutlass hanging heavily and very visibly at his side.

The man in the middle had not even the courtesy to remove his hat whilst indoors and extravagant peacock feathers hung from it in a display of mindless excess. He wore a dark emerald coat and velvet breeches with glimmering silver buttons. The cuffs of his coat were embroidered with fine silver and gold thread and with such delicacy that Derek hadn’t seen since he was in attendance at the royal court years ago.

Slowly the hum of the tavern started up again, although nowhere near to the pitch it had previously been. A wide birth was created around the three men and the barmaid supplied them with a steady flow of what Derek assumed was rum without a coin ever passing hands.

“Who the devil is that?” Isaac muttered, squinting at the bar.

“That’s Captain Blackheart,” one of the men on the other end of the table responded, looking both eager to tell the tale and wary of the men at the bar overhearing him.

“ _The_ Captain Blackheart, Captain of _The Liberty_?” Isaac’s eyes widened, shifting closer to the other man, any wariness about rank and status deserting him at the prospect of gossip, even if he was shit scared of pirates.

“Aye, the very same. Found his fame after he massacred an entire crew on board some merchant ship and look off with the Captain’s daughter,” the man recounted. “That’s where his name comes from too.”

“Doesn't anyone know what his actual name is?” Derek frowned.

“Nah, man of mystery he is. Some say he’s a criminal escaped from an English prison, others think he might be Blackbeard’s spawn-”

“I once heard a rumour he was an English noble who ran away after murdering his mother,” another man interjected, hauling his chair closer. “Said that's the only reason he could speak as proper as he does.”

“An English nobleman? The most famous pirate in the Caribbean?” Derek snorted in disbelief.

“Most famous pirate in the _world_ , mate,” the first man corrected. “Aint a soul on the seas who doesn't know his name.” Feeling it best not to mention that no one _did_ , in fact, seem to know his name, Derek turned his attention back to the infamous Captain.

“Who’s with him?” he inquired.

“The one of the left’s his quartermaster – don’t speak much that one but I’ve seen him put a bullet through a man’s skull from a mile away and he’s a devil with the cutlass too.”

“The other’s his boatswain I think, he’s sailed under more flags than I can count,” one of the men snorted and Derek couldn't help but think that wasn't really saying much, as he doubted the other man could count all that high. “Settled down with Blackheart though, been with ‘im for years now. Can drink ya under the table in the blink of an eye, seen it meself!”

As if proving the man’s point, the one with a crooked jaw threw back an entire glass of rum before cackling loudly at something the barmaid had said. Beside him, Blackheart tilted his head slightly to say something and all the breath left Derek in an instant.

Impossible.

It was just a likeness surely; a touch of light making him look like- it just wasn't possible. He was dead. Dead in a ditch somewhere in France. The man at the bar simply looked like him. The same profile. The same upturned nose and furrowed eyebrows. The same full lips and sharp jawline. But it wasn't _him_. It couldn't be _him_.

“Derek, mate? Are you alright?” Isaac’s voice penetrated the confused panic clouding Derek’s mind. Blinking sharply against the dim light, he shook himself free of his thoughts. It wasn't possible. It was just a coincidence.

“I’m fine,” he replied, taking a hearty swig from his tankard.

“You look a bit pale mate,” Isaac frowned.

“Stories of Blackheart’s black heart spook ya?” one of the men jeered.

“Come on, we should probably be getting back anyway,” Isaac decided, finishing off his ale and standing up. “Pleasure to meet you,” he told the two men. “Buy a drink on me,” he added, putting a couple of coins down on the table as he practically hauled Derek from his seat and begun steering them through the crowd before Derek shook him off.

“I said I’m fine,” the older man repeated.

“I know but the blonde fellow’s hand was coming a little too close to your pockets,” he muttered as they neared the door. “And you did look like you’d seen a ghost.”

At the reminder, Derek could not stop himself from turning his head, glancing over his shoulder as he passed through the doors. Blackheart was still sitting at the bar, now laughing with his boatswain whilst the third man kept an eye out, making sure no one got too near.

The resemblance was truly uncanny.

And the hard beating of his heart suggested that it was not just mere resemblance at all.

**⌘**

“And then this end goes through like that,” Stiles demonstrated as the boy watched on, fingers fiddling on his own bit of rope. “And this bit goes around like that and – there, done,” he finished, holding up the knot. “Now you try.”

The boy fumbled with the rope for a minute and missed one step entirely but soon enough and with a little help, he managed to get a semblance of a knot together. He beamed proudly up at Stiles.

“Well done, now see if you can take it apart?” he challenged, watching on as the kid struggled to undo his work. Leaning back in his seat, Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, still trying to shake off the ominous feeling that had been following him ever since he set foot in The Sparrow’s Nest three nights previously. Jackson had been giving him contemplating looks ever since and it was becoming somewhat tiring.

“Done!” the boy grinned, showing Stiles the unknotted rope. Before Stiles could reply though, the door of his cabin was thrown open and the quartermaster was striding in. “Jacky!” the squealed in delight.

“Morning Jamie,” Jackson nodded, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Been learning some new knots, have you?” he asked, gesturing to the rope in Jamie’s hand. Of all his crew, Jackson had been the most vocal about not taking the lad on board with them, had told Stiles straight to his face that it was a stupid and reckless decision and had shunned him for a fortnight before Stiles was finally able to talk him around. Regardless of his convictions however, Jackson had always treated Jamie with utmost care and the boy had quickly taken a shine to him. Something Stiles tried not to begrudge him.

“How can I help you, Whittemore?” he inquired.

“Ship’s been spotted not too far off, looks like that merchant vessel that was moored at Port Royal with us,” Jackson explained. “Crew’s already gotten whiff of it and are eager to get going. Haven’t had much action lately,” he stated pointedly, glancing down at Jamie, who was trying to replicated the knot Stiles had just taught him to show Jackson. “I think they’re keen to let off some steam.”

“You’re sure it’s a merchant?”

“Positive, no navy flag in sight and not the right shape either,” Jackson confirmed, fingers still petting Jamie’s hair. “Your call Captain.”

“I suppose we could do with a little fun,” Stiles eventually sighed. “Ready the guns and hoist the topsail – don’t let the colours fly until we’re positive that it’s not a navy ship,” he ordered, standing up and gathering a few things, including the logbook and accounts, to put in the safe. “I’ll be on deck in a moment.”

Jackson nodded, bending down to help Jamie with the knot quickly before leaving the cabin and shouting orders.

“Are we going to fight?” Jamie asked wide-eyed.

“ _You_ are doing no such thing,” Stiles chuckled. “Now listen carefully okay – I want you to go down to Kira’s cabin and stay there okay? Under no circumstances are you allowed to come out until I come and get you, understand?”

“Yes sir,” Jamie nodded, looking a little crestfallen and Stiles ignored the twinge in his heart.

“Take your rope with you and see if you can do the knot with your eye closed?” Stiles suggested, running his fingers through Jamie’s hair and lightening his tone so that the boy smiled slightly before nodding again. “Okay, I’ll come and get you soon but stay there until I do, okay?”

“Okay,” Jamie nodded before scampering from the room and heading down to the first-mate’s cabin. Stiles locked up the safe and grabbed his pistols, tying three of them to his sash and keeping one in hand before he headed up onto the deck.

The crew was scampering about, making the ship ready to engage. The master-gunner was bellowing out orders, her flaming red hair streaming in the wind and expression fierce. Scott was also ordering people about, whilst at the helm Kira was straining against the added wind power of the topsail.

“Shall we hoist the colours, Captain?” Liam asked from above him. Stiles nodded and watched as the black sail unfurled, revealing the carefully constructed triskele sewn into the fabric that was catching the light. Putting his telescope to his eye, Stiles watched for the exact moment the other vessel realised what was coming.

**⌘**

Cora was shaken awake from her unplanned afternoon nap by her frantic looking companion, the racket from on deck far louder than it usually was considering the calm. Mrs Baldwin looked positively terrified, gaze twitching between Cora and the door to their cabin.

“Whatever is the matter?” she inquired, sitting up and smoothing out the creases in her skirts absentmindedly.

“Put these on,” Mrs Baldwin ordered, shoving a worn pair of breeches and a stained shirt into Cora’s startled arms. “And here, put your hair under this cap,” she continued, already turning Cora so that she could undo her dress.

“Mrs Baldwin!” the younger woman exclaimed. “What the devil is going on?”

Her companion froze for a moment, eyes flicking towards the doorway once again before she leant closer to whisper: “ _Pirates_.”

“Pirates?” repeated Cora, heart fluttering slightly in her chest – whether from fear or excitement she was not entirely sure.

“Just spotted to starboard,” Mrs Baldwin nodded, continuing to undress Cora. “So you best put these on now,” she ordered in a strict tone, thrusting the garments back into Cora’s arms. “Heaven knows you’ll be safer if they don’t know who you are.”

“Or that I’m a woman,” Cora ascertained, hands running over the coarse fabric of the breeches. Sighing, she stood up to make the process of undressing her easier; quickly ridding herself of her attire she fumbled to fasten the oversized breeches on her narrow waist. Beside her, Mrs Baldwin had also stripped, dressing in her own set of sailor’s clothes and shoving her mass of brown curls into a cap.

Outside a cannon boomed, shaking both women to the bone.

Cracking open a window, Mrs Baldwin swiped her fingers along the outer rim, gathering the grim that had settled there. She beckoned Cora over and brushed it across her luminous pale skin, giving it a far more weathered appearance, before doing the same to her own.

“Put some on your hands as well,” she instructed. “Lord knows no one would mistake you for a sailor with dainty hands like those.”

“What are they going to do?” Cora finally asked, glancing towards the doorway to the deck where the sound of pistol shots and people screaming had replaced the cannon fire. They had been boarded.

“Depends on the pirate,” Mrs Baldwin muttered. “Hopefully they’re just after anything of value then they’ll leave us be but sounds like the Captain has put up a bit of a fight so they might want to make an example of us.”

“We should get out of here, if they're after things of value this is the first place they’ll look,” Cora insisted, dragging Mrs Baldwin to the smaller door the servants used to bring the food in. The two women found themselves in the galley where the food was prepared. The place was deserted, food left discarded on the sides. Taking a seat at the back of one of the storage cupboards, they waited. For what, they did not know.

**⌘**

“How many have we taken on?” Stiles asked Jackson, surveying the goods they had taken from the merchant vessel.

“Five – couple wanted to join us, took on their carpenter’s mate to help Braeden with repairs and Finstock found a couple of cook’s aides hiding out in the galley, figured we could do with some decent food,” Jackson shrugged, running his fingers over the feathers of one of the hats they had confiscated.

“Leave them in the hold for now, we’ll deal with them later – except the carpenter’s mate, send them straight to Braeden, she’s going to need all the help she can get with the ruddy hole they blew on the gun deck,” Stiles ordered.

“Also, Jamie’s refusing to leave Kira’s cabin, says you told him to stay there until you came to get him,” Jackson chuckled. “Wouldn't believe me when I said it was all safe.”

“Aye, I’ll go fetch him then,” Stiles nodded, taking the account books out of the safe and handing them to his quartermaster to record the loot before going in search of the boy.

**⌘**

Stiles and his sailing master were debating on a course, bent over the table and studying the maps laid out across it when the door burst open and Kira walked in, dragging an unfamiliar figure by the arm.

“Captain, Master Parrish,” she nodded her head in greeting.

“Can we help you?” Stiles asked in amusement, glancing at her quite frankly _filthy_ companion, whose expression was one of absolute indignation.

“Went to see the new recruits in the brig to see if the cooks were any good when I found this charming creature,” Kira snorted, pulling the figure in front of her. “Turns out she aint a cook Captain.” Stiles’ eyebrows rose, not having been made aware that any of their prisoners were female. “Not with these dainty little hands anyways,” Kira continued, grabbing one of the girl’s dirty hands. “Covered ‘em nicely in muck but these hands haven’t seen a day of work in their life!” his first mate chuckled.

“Is that so?” Stiles mused.

“Spat in my face when I asked who she was, so not exactly a lady,” Kira smirked and the girl finally lifted her head to glare at her captor but froze when her eyes fell on the Captain. Stiles stared at her in shock for a moment, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“Captain?” Kira seemed to repeat.

“Get this woman cleaned up and put her in something decent to wear,” Stiles ordered, eyes not leaving her face. “She’ll be joining me for luncheon.”

“Uh… aye Captain,” Kira nodded, still frowning between the two, confused by her Captain’s unusual behaviour. Shaking herself, she dragged the girl back out of the cabin.

By the time Kira returned with the girl in tow, Stiles had cleared the table of maps and navigation equipment and had one of the boys set up a respectable luncheon. Jordan had huffed about the interruption but did not push it when he sensed something was bothering his Captain.

“Thank you Kira,” Stiles nodded, effectively dismissing her. The first mate paused by the door, a little reluctant to leave her Captain alone with an unknown person, regardless of how dainty her hands were. “It’ll be fine,” he chuckled, noticing her hesitation. “See to it that we are not disturbed, would you?”

“Aye Captain,” Kira nodded again, finally backing out of the cabin.

“So,” Stiles begun, taking a seat across from his guest. “What would a lady be doing dressed in sailor’s garments with dirt smeared across her hands and face?”

“I know who you are,” the woman stated, ignoring his question.

“Do you now?”

“It’s been years but I still recognise your face,” she continued, sneering a little.

“Is that so?”

“You recognise me too – I saw it in your eyes,” she stared him down, brown eyes sharp and following every move he made.

“Whoever it is that you think I am, I can assure you that I am not that person anymore,” Stiles eventually sighed, taking a swig of wine and avoiding meeting her gaze.

“Just because you ran away and took to a life of piracy doesn't change who you are.”

“Perhaps I should repeat my question: what were you doing dress as a man hiding in the galley of your ship?” he asked bluntly, desperate for her to drop the subject.

“And what are _you_ doing, dressed as a pirate and sailing the high seas?” she retorted.

“Enjoying freedom and treasure, of course,” Stiles snorted, offering her the plate of beef they had confiscated from her ship.

“More like running away from your mistakes.”

“If there is one thing I can _guarantee_ you, it is that whatever you think may have happened that day, is not the truth,” Stiles frowned, setting the beef back down when she ignored it.

“So what was it, exactly that made the great Viscount Eichen run away across the seas?” she asked, voice evidently mocking but only to mask her hurt.

“My dear Lady Cora,” Stiles sighed. “This sort of conversation is really not good for the digestion.”

“She died, you know,” Lady Cora changed track. “Three days later. Your father and sister hovering around her bedside watching her bleed out and being unable to help.” Stiles said nothing, turning his gaze to the windows behind him, looking out over the sea. “Your father was beside himself with grief, losing both his wife and his eldest son within days of each other. When the rumour sprung up that you had died in France, he seemed to loose all hope. And your sister – how could you _do_ that to her?”

“M’lady, you may think what you will of me but I can assure you I had good reason to do what I did and that is the end of the matter. We will be stopping in Tortuga shortly and I will be more than happy to get you passage back to England or wherever it was you were heading.”

“He never married,” Lady Cora stated, eyes lowered and fixed on her plate.

“What?” Stiles frowned, thrown off by her sudden change of topic.

“He’s in the navy you know,” she continued without explanation. “Was commissioned to these parts actually, not too long ago. He’s a lieutenant now, hopes to have his own ship one day.”

Stiles sat in stunned silence, watching his old acquaintance ramble on. It had been nine years since he had set foot on English soil. Nine years since he had seen her or anyone else from his past. Nine years since it had all gone wrong.

“Did you ever even think about what you leaving would do to him?” she finally looked up, latching her fierce eyes onto Stiles tired brown ones. “He was _destroyed_.”

Again, Stiles said nothing. Looking away from her, he pushed the food around on his plate with his silver fork, appetite long since gone. Looking at her was painful, her features echoing those that haunted him in his dreams.

“You know you’re still legally entitled to your father’s estate when he dies,” Lady Cora noted, filling in the silence and trying to find _something_ that the man before her would react to when it became evident that he would not talk about her brother.

Stiles chuckled darkly. “I’m a wanted criminal, m’lady, I hardly doubt they would welcome me back with open arms and a title simply because my father had passed away. I’m sure someone else in my family will do the job admirably.”

“I think your father is trying to arrange for the titles and land to pass to your nephew should you not come back to claim them,” Cora noted. “I believe it has something to do with keep it in the direct family rather than passing to a far removed cousin but I suspect said cousin’s marriage to a woman with no rank or wealth to her name and of dubious reputation did not help his case,” she elaborated. “The title remains yours by right but will pass to you nephew should you father pass away before you return.”

“My nephew?” Stiles finally managed to choke out, air gushing from his lungs. “Forgive me but you speak of people I do not know.”

“Oh, of course, you left before Paige married,” Cora recalled. “You do know your brother-in-law however,” she continued, relieved to have finally found something Stiles was responding to. “Paige married Peter.”

Stiles’ blood ran cold.

“There are a lot of Peters in my acquaintance,” he noted, mind resolutely not going to the most obvious option and his heart beating hard in his chest at having to think of his family again after all this time.

“ _Hills_ ,” she rolled her eyes, finally picking up the beef. “Derek was strangely against the match.”

Stiles felt like he had been punched in the gut. Whether due to the mention of _his_ name… or by the fact his little sister had married _Lord Hills_ , heir to the duchy of Beacon, Lady Cora’s older half-brother and- and the reason he was where he was today.

“ _What_?” he choked out.

“They were married three years ago and have a son, little Sebastian, your nephew. I suspect Peter hopes to unit the titles of Hills and Nemeton should you not return to claim it, of course.”

Staring at her in complete shock, it occurred to Stiles that he had not ever given thought to how his memories of England would have changed over the decade he had been absent. A part of him had believed everything had simply stayed the same. Naïve though that was.

“Why on _earth_ did she marry _Hills_?” Stiles finally managed to formulate.

“He changed,” Cora shrugged. “After you left and the effect that had on Derek…. Peter couldn't help him so he helped your family instead. Paige was initially unreceptive to his efforts but somehow he won her over. They were very happy from what I could see before I left.”

“But he- he was-” Stiles could not bring himself to finish, fear and anger clenching around his heart. Fear for his sister. Anger at himself.

“Grief changes people… Your mother was like a mother to him too, you know.”

“I think that’s all the conversation I can handle for the day,” Stiles muttered darkly, stomach churning with this new information and suddenly overwhelmed by the need to escape. “If you’ll excuse me I have other matters to attend to, especially now that we more than likely have the navy on our tail – not that that’s particularly new but now they have added incentive.”

“Added incentive?” Cora inquired.

“M’lady, you are the daughter of an English duke – I highly suspect they will want to rescue you from the perilous clutches of the pirates and return you safely to your grieving parents for a sumptuous reward,” Stiles snorted, not being able to vocalize that if, as she claimed, her brother was in fact a lieutenant sailing somewhere on these seas, he would cross them all to save her.

“Oh…”

“Indeed. You will have to share a cabin with Yukimura and I’m afraid she will have to remain at your side, a guard of sorts,” he informed her.

“What? In case I run away over the edge of the ship?” she mocked.

“The crew might not take well to having a noblewoman aboard,” Stiles explained. “And I don't trust you not to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he added as an afterthought, remembering Cora’s lack of restraint from their childhood.

“Lovely, I get a guard dog,” Cora sneered as Stiles headed towards the door to call for Kira. The first mate appeared quickly, little Jamie latched onto her back. “Oh,” Cora blinked, looking at the boy. Stiles shot her a warning look. “Well come on dog, lets go,” she shook herself, sneering in distaste at Kira and striding out of the cabin, sparing only the slightest glance at the little boy, expression unreadable. Kira watched her in part amusement and part displeasure.

“Watch her,” was all Stiles said, ruffling Jamie’s hair absentmindedly. Kira groaned.

**⌘**

The weather this time of year was entirely unpredictable but even so, the fog rolling in across the waves was not a common sight for the sparse sailors gathered on the deck of _The Liberty_. Most had gone inside to their births, only the watch remaining out, eyes peeled on the murkiness around them.

Stiles was standing at the bow, leaning over the gunwale and gazing into the fog, catching the glimmer of a wave crest every now and then as _The Liberty_ ploughed serenely through the waters. It had been almost a week since they had boarded the merchant vessel and inadvertently kidnapped the daughter of a duke and it was all far too quiet for the Captain.

There was no way that the navy were not on their tail, tracking them down in the hopes of rescuing the fair maiden and receiving their due reward and glory. It was not that Stiles was unaccustomed to having the navy trying to track him down, they were always eager to catch a notorious pirate after all, but the added incentive of Lady Cora would draw them on just a little quicker.

He refused to think about whether amongst those trailing him was a certain man with dark hair and startling green eyes.

Just as he had refused to think of England for all these years.

From somewhere in the rigging one of the watch called out, the noise startling in the quiet, pointing off the starboard side of the ship. Squinting into the fog, Stiles was just able to make out the shadow of another ship, a three master it seemed, floating on the ocean barely a stone throw away.

The English flag flying from the stern marking her out as a naval ship.

Hurrying down the deck towards the helm, Stiles ordered people in hushed tones to stay quiet and perhaps they would go unseen. A fight in this weather would lead to more casualties than he could imagine. On both sides.

“Turn her about,” he instructed Liam, one of the ship’s mates, who was at the helm for the night. “They haven’t spotted us yet.” Liam nodded and swiftly begun to turn the wheel, arms bulging with the strain of it.

The stillness of the night was broken only by the slapping of waves against the hull as the ship turned from her course and away from the naval boat floating beside her. Stiles leant against the gunwale once more and watched the ship fade from sight, breath catching in his throat when he spotted a lone sailor, standing on the deck staring right back at him.

Dark hair blowing gently in the breeze and startling green eyes too far away for Stiles to make out but he knew them all the same.

**⌘**

By the time Scott found him sitting in the crow’s-nest far above the deck, rays of sunlight were peaking over the horizon to dissipate the last remnants of mist, catching the wave crests with dazzling brightness and banishing the lingering darkness. Wordlessly, he passed over his silver flask, engraved with a somewhat misshapen wolf’s head. Taking a swig from the flask, Stiles felt the chill surrounding his heart receded a little. His boatswain said nothing, waiting for him to speak on his own accord.

“Do you remember, years ago, when we got outrageously pissed after the first time we took a merchant vessel?” Stiles began, eyes remaining fixed on the horizon. “And I told you about England?”

“In all honesty, I didn't think _you_ remembered that,” Scott confessed, chuckling slightly. “Didn't think you’d want me to bring it up again.”

“Do you remember I told you about a person…” Stiles frowned, searching for the right words, memory of what exactly he had told his friend faded and fragmented.

“Aye, _green eyes_ ya called ‘im,” Scott nodded, taking a swig from the flask himself when Stiles handed it back.

“I think I’m going mad,” the Captain confessed.

“We all know you're mad, mate,” he snorted. “But what in particular is making you question your senses now?”

“I saw him – last night, on the deck of the naval ship,” Stiles whispered, not even really believing his own words. “He was just… standing there. Watching me.”

“He saw us? And didn't set the alarms off?” Scott pondered. “Well either you really are mad or that lad was just as shocked as you were and is probably also questioning his own mental faculties holed up in one of ‘em smarmy navy bunks.”

“Its just, Lady Cora mentioned he was in the navy, stationed around here, and I’m a little concerned I just hallucinated him because- Well, because of what she said,” he sighed, taking the flask back from Scott.

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn't,” the boatswain shrugged. “We aint gonna know unless they catch us… But might I ask who, exactly, Lady Cora is?” he mused, raising an eyebrow at his Captain. “I’m assuming she’s the lady that been drivin’ our Kira round the bend an’ all – but who is she in the greater scheme of things? And who is she to you?”

“She the daughter of a bloody _duke_ ,” Stiles groaned, remembering the importance of their unexpected guest and the bounty that was probably tripling over his head. “Youngest daughter of the Duke of Beacon, she was… well she was a close friend,” he shrugged. “Lived nearby.”

“You were ‘close friends’ with the daughter of the Duke of _Beacon_ , one of the most esteemed men in all of England?” Scott repeated, a little shocked. Of course, he knew a little of Stiles’ background – the snippets he shared only when he could see the bottom of the rum bottle – but only that he was some kind of highborn Englishman, wanted for a crime he did not commit. If someone managed to turn their Captain in, they would probably end up with more money than they knew what to do with for all the bounties on that man’s head. “How highborn _are_ you, exactly? I just thought you were the son of some gentleman or somethin’,” he snorted.

“Earl,” Stiles corrected. “I’m the son of an Earl.”

“You mean all this time we’ve been making cracks at the snobbish noblemen we scare during raids, we’ve actually had one right in our midst?” Scott laughed, putting the flask back in his pocket and leaning over the precarious rail of the crow’s-nest. Stiles managed a weak chuckle in response. “So are we talking, fifth son with no real prospects or are we talking eldest son, heir to the entire family fortune and estate?”

“Eldest,” Stiles muttered.

“Ah… well that complicates things,” Scott nodded, more to himself than Stiles.

“I have a sister and my mother is dead,” he confessed, words bitter as they passed from his lips. A sister who could not inherit and an unmarried widower who cannot produce any more heirs. Scott nodded in understanding. “I killed her,” the Captain rushed out in choked whisper. Beside him, the boatswain frowned, eyes trailing his friend’s profile, watching the flickers of grief and guilt break the usually impenetrable mask he wore. “Or, at least, I’m the reason she’s dead.”

“Nemeton,” Scott suddenly stated, making Stiles’ head snap up in confusion. “You’re the son of the Earl of Nemeton,” he frowned. “I remember it, was the gossip of whichever port I was in at the time… esteemed countess murdered by psychopathic son.”

Stiles made a choked sound, hating the way the words echoed in his headed.

“Am I right?” he asked and watched as his Captain forced himself to nod. “So… tell me more about this _green eyes_ fellow, then,” Scott completely changed the subject, hoping to steer the conversation to calmer waters.

Stiles let out a heart-wrenching sob.

“Aren’t you disgusted? Revolted? Horrified?” Stiles demanded, staring at his companion.

“Why? Because he’s a bloke?” he clarified. “No offence Captain but I’ve seen some truly revolting and horrifying things during me lifetime and two people loving each other can hardly compare.”

“Who said anything about love?” Stiles bit out, turning his head to avoid his friend’s eye.

“No one would be worried that they had hallucinated someone unless it was someone they subconsciously were desperate to see,” Scott replied, a wisdom and world-weariness to his voice that Stiles rarely heard. “It’s been what? A decade? And this _green eyes_ still has the ability to put you in a state? I’d say that was something damn like love.”

“Or stupidity,” the Captain muttered staring over the horizon.

**⌘**

The sound of cannon fire was deafening, bits of debris flying across the deck. Lydia was bellowing over the sound, giving the naval ship as good as they got. It had taken them two weeks to catch up with _The Liberty_ and Stiles was stubbornly ignoring the fact that there was possibly someone on board the enemy ship that he knew.

Finally the ships came too close for cannon fire to not be devastating to them both and men were slinging ropes and hooks from one ship to the other, throwing themselves into the fight. Pistol shots rung out but were soon replaced by the clashing of swords and cutlasses. Someone laid a plank across the gunwales to form a temporary bridge and several men went skirting across to take on the naval crew. Stiles followed after them, balance impeccable as he strode over the precarious plank.

The Captain of the navy ship was hiding on the aft deck, staying clear of the fighting below but close enough to yell orders. He spotted Kira in the midst of the battle as she always was, slicing at the men in uniform who were too startled by the presence of a woman to respond. Scott was there too, dancing circles around the experienced officers and laughing as they tripped over their own feet.

Then he saw him. Engaged in combat with Jackson, eyes hard and focused, feet agile upon the polished deck that was now running with blood and water. In horror, Stiles watched as Jackson did a nibble twist, avoiding his sword and swinging his own in a downward arch before the other man could regain his balance. Without thinking Stiles threw himself between them, blocking Jackson’s blow with his own cutlass, arm straining at the impact.

Blinking in surprise, Jackson stared at his Captain, wondering what the devil had possessed him. Stiles shook his head once, sharply and threw Jackson’s sword off, making him stumble backwards more out of surprise than through strength.

Another naval officer was shoved roughly into Jackson’s back and the quartermaster turned around to attack the next target, deciding to contemplate his Captain’s lunacy at a later point in time.

Heaving in a deep breath, Stiles finally turned to face the man whose life he had just saved. The blue of his frock coat was drenched with seawater and blood, splatters of red on his white waistcoat. He was staring at Stiles in unabashed horror, green eyes wide and frightened, dark hair escaping his ponytail and fluttering in the wind.

“What-” was all he is able to choke out before three of Stiles crew shove passed them, pushing them away from each other, clambering across the deck with half a dozen men in uniform on their tail. Stiles did not break his eyes away from green before someone roughly jostled him, almost throwing him to the deck.

After that, Stiles became stuck in the middle of the horde, focused on pushing them back, wearing them out. He forced any thoughts of green to the back of his mind and focused on surviving. On winning.

Eventually the navy seemed to tire and by the time Kira made it onto the top deck at the stern and held her cutlass to the throat of their Captain, they were ready to surrender. Stiles would always marvel at the way pistols, bayonets and swords clattered to the deck the moment their Captain was in danger. If there was one rule that he enforced with his own crew, it was _do not stop fighting for me, my life is not worth more than anyone else’s_.

Several of his crew rounded up the weaponless navy men whilst Jackson and Scott tied up the higher officers. Kira stood tall, in full view, sword still pressed tightly to the Captain’s neck. Stiles sent three of his men down to get anything of value as well as supplies from below and another couple to gather up all the weapons the men had dropped.

Once anything of use or value had been transferred to _The Liberty_ and the worst of the wreckage cleared away, Stiles set the crew to prepare the ship to sail. The sun was setting by the time they were ready, all the crew of the navy ship had had their hands tied behind their backs and Kira was still holding the Captain hostage. The sickly coloured man looked ready to collapse.

“Come on,” Stiles ordered when he reached the cabin he had locked Lady Cora in.

“What?” she frowned, clearly still irate from being locked away.

“The navy’s after you and you’re no use to me so I figured we’d give them what they came for,” Stiles grunted, hauling her along the corridor and out onto the deck.

“You’re doing _what_?” she protested, trying to escape his grip.

“You’ll be in civilized company soon, don’t worry,” he sniped suddenly coming to a halt as his companion froze, digging her heals into the wood of the deck. Glancing back at her, he noticed her gaze was fixed on the neighboring ship, brown eyes wide in fear. “Cora?” he frowned.

“No,” she shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not getting on that ship,” she stated adamantly, tone broking no argument.

“Why not? I thought you’d be happy to be getting back to civilization,” the Captain frowned.

“That’s not civilization,” she countered, voice hushed and low.

“It’s the navy…?”

“Do you know who that is?” she suddenly demanded and Stiles followed her pointed finger to look at the man Kira still had captive. “ _That_ is Captain Argent,” she spat out in disgust. “He has done things that would make even your alleged crimes pale in comparison.”

“But-”

“I’m not getting on that ship,” she repeated, yanking her arm out of Stiles’ grip before he could react and storming back below deck. Stiles could do nothing but stare after her in puzzlement. He really should leave her on the naval ship. Her presence was only causing them more trouble and they would assure she got to safety. But the fear in her eyes… He wasn't sure he was going to subject anyone to something they feared that much. He suspected she did not even know her brother was on that ship but now was not the time for family reunions.

Instead, Stiles turned on his heel and yelled for Kira to tie up the Captain and for the rest of his crew to get back on board _The Liberty_. Picking up a small, fairly blunt dagger, he crossed back onto the navy ship.

Climbing onto the top deck where Kira was fastening a complicated rope around the Captain’s wrists and several other high ranking officers were gathered, he was relieved to find no sets of iridescent green eyes staring back at him. He had checked the dead earlier, heart climbing up his throat until he was certain his _green eyes_ was not amongst them. But it was a relief not to have to face him now. Walking over to a large looking man with dark brown eyes that reminded him of the basset hound his sister had had as a child, he bent down and held the dagger out in front of him.

“Alright there kid?” he asked, although the man could hardly have been much younger than he was himself, the gag in to man’s mouth preventing him from answering. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stab ya,” he snorted when the man flinched. “I’m just gonna give you this knife and once we’re gone and ya can’t see our sails anymore, feel free to cut yourself loose,” he explained, reaching behind the man and fitting the dagger into his palm, tugging quickly on the ropes tying him just to watch him squirm a little.

“What about the noble spawn?” Kira asked, having fastened the Captain to the helm.

“She stays with us,” Stiles shrugged.

“ _What_?”

“Believe me, she was very adamant about it,” he replied, glancing at the Captain. “Didn't fancy the company of the navy it seemed.”

“Brilliant,” his first mate growled, sounding displeased at having to continue her duty as ‘guard dog’. Her eyes however, belied her words and spoke of relief. For what, Stiles couldn't be certain.

“Alright let’s go!” he yelled, nodding over to Jackson on _The Liberty_ who begun cutting off the ties between the two ships. “Remember,” he told the man he had given the dagger to. “When you can’t see our sails, then you can cut yourself loose.” The man nodded, glaring at him.

“Come on,” Kira urged but Stiles took the few steps towards the Captain, whose eyes widened in renewed fear no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He was older than Stiles had expected, men did not tend to live long in this life.

“Don’t even bother chasing us,” Stiles warned. “Or next time we won’t leave _any_ survivors, let alone your pathetic soul,” he promised, pulling out his own dagger and ripping the upper section of the man’s coat sleeve and shirt away. Pressing the tip to the exposed skin, Stiles made several quick, shallow swipes. The crudely drawn ‘B’ oozed blood onto the white of his shirt. He sent one last smirk at the decrepit man before striding over to the edge of the ship, climbing on the gunwale and leaping across the gap onto _The Liberty_.

His crew cheered as they finally cut themselves free completely and set sail. Stiles spared only one glance back at the naval ship – not to the ghostly looking Captain, not to the brown eyed man who was already cutting himself free – but to the pair of green eyes that were watching him from the middeck, expression unreadable.

**⌘**

“How’s he holding up?” Stiles inquired, running his hand over the matted hair of the unconscious boy on Braeden’s table.

“Passed out when I reset the bone, will have a nasty scar but should be able to keep the arm provided it doesn't get infected,” the surgeon replied. “Talbot lost his eye though, giant splinter from one of the cannon blasts – think he’s more pissed he didn't get the chance to run through any bluecoats though.”

“No one hates the navy more than ex-naval men,” Stiles snorted.

“McCall says we’ve got a bit of a hole on the port gun deck but nothing that’s gonna sink us?”

“Yeah, apparently the navy didn't want to risk Lady Cora drowning if they sank us so the damage isn’t too bad,” he nodded.

“Mmm… Martin said you wouldn't allow her to inflict too much damage on them either?” she asked, raising her eyebrow judgmentally at her Captain whilst she finished fastening a bandage around the splint on the lad’s arm.

“We’d have the entire fleet on our tail if we sunk their ship,” he pointed out.

“If you say so. Pass the salts,” she indicated behind Stiles to another table with a range of things lying on it, most of which he couldn't even identify. Grabbing the salts, he passed them over to her and she waved them under Mason’s nose, making him stir awake.

“Whittemore is looking for you by the way, came raging in here saying something about you losing your goddamn mind?” she raised another pointed eyebrow and why was every statement she came out with somehow a question. Stiles hummed in acknowledgment. “Now get – I’ve got work to do,” she told him, gesturing to the bench where several other of his crew were sitting, nursing a range of wounds.

Stiles remembered when Braeden had first joined their crew; men would purposely injure themselves in skirmishes just to get her attention. When she had figured it out, she rubbed salt on their cuts and told them to fuck off. Now most men were terrified of her, as they should well be.

“Alright, alright,” he huffed when she shot him another pointed glance and gestured to the door.

When Stiles descended the stairs to the mess room, the sound of yelling and the thumping of objects being thrown greeted him. Heading down to where the higher ranked crew’s births were, he found a small crowd gathered outside the first mate’s cabin. The one she had been forced to share with their guest.

Peering over the heads of his crewmen, the Captain spotted Lady Cora throwing an assortment of objects at his first mate, screeching about god knows what. Kira was watching her in amusement, tiny smirk aggravating the other woman even further.

“The devil is going on here?” he asked Liam.

“Not really sure, she’s been at it for going on ten minutes,” the mate shrugged. “Yukimura pissed her off somehow but none of us can really glean _how_ – not sure Yukimura knows herself to be honest.”

“Alright lads,” Stiles said a little louder. “I think you’ve had your share of entertainment – don’t you ‘ave jobs to be doing?” he chuckled as the men reluctantly pulled themselves away from the scene and hurried off to wherever they were actually supposed to be.

Once they had all gone, Stiles rapped on the open door, catching only Kira’s attention as Lady Cora reached for the sheets on the bunk and started throwing them as well. “Is there a problem?” he inquired.

“Not at all Captain,” Kira chuckled. “Her ladyship is trying to prove that she is not, in fact, a child and therefore under no circumstances am I to lock her in this cabin ever again,” she explained.

“Well she’s not making a very convincing case,” he noted. “I’ll leave you too it then.”

“Thanks,” she rolled her eyes. “Where are we heading?”

“Tortuga I think, I’ll check with Jordan but it’s probably our best bet. We need to get some supplies, the navy ship didn't have all that much so they’ll be heading back to Port Royal so we can’t go back there for a bit. We need to trade off some of the loot as well.”

“Aye,” Kira nodded, ducking to avoid a book. Cora must be really mad if she was throwing books, Stiles couldn't help but think, knowing her love of them from when they were children.

“Well in that case…” he nodded, taking his leave and letting Lady Cora yell herself hoarse.

**⌘**

Almost a fortnight later found them anchoring off the shore of Tortuga, the lights and noise of the seaport echoing across the calm waters. The sun had set by the time they finished tidying the ship up so Stiles made them spend the night on board, promising to send rowers bright and early the next morning.

It was not until late morning that Stiles himself took the trip to the island, Kira and Scott with him. The former looking splendid, if somewhat uncomfortable, in a pale green silk embroidered dress that they had picked up from a merchant ship a few months back. The dirt had been scrubbed from her face and her hair brushed and pile on her head in the latest fashion. Her calloused hands had been soaked to make them seem a little less rough and her nails cleaned and shaped.

She hated it.

But it was necessary, the gentleman they often did business with had taken a particular shine to her and always offered far more if she tagged along and more still if she looked dressed to the nines. If he were not their best contact for exchanging loot for gold, Kira probably would have run him through years ago.

“So,” Scott begun as they wound down the overflowing streets towards the gentleman’s house. “I for one am glad to be off that ship.”

“Excuse me?” the Captain replied, offended.

“For once I’d have to agree with McCall,” Kira muttered, hiking her skirts higher to avoid the muck on the ground. “The atmosphere was positively stifling.”

“I was half convinced Whittemore was going to lead a mutiny.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Stiles huffed.

“Oh, so I’ve just been imagining the frosty atmosphere between you and the quartermaster?” Scott snorted, jumping out of the way of a cart.

“What the hell did you do to get Whittemore’s pants in a twist this time?” asked the first mate. “I mean last time, with the kid, the cause was pretty obvious and all but… Unless this is ‘cause we didn't leave her ladyship with the navy, I’ve not got a clue,” she continued, nose wrinkling at the mention of Lady Cora.

“It’s partly that,” Stiles grudgingly acknowledged. “I think he thinks she’s some kind of spy now.”

“And the other part?” Kira pried.

“I stopped him killing some kid,” he huffed, avoiding their piercing gazes.

“Some kid?”

“Some navy officer,” he elaborated.

“Any particular reason why?” the boatswain frowned. When the Captain responded, it was inaudible over the din of the rabble of the streets. “I beg your pardon?”

“It was _him,_ alright?” Stiles snapped, side stepping a pair of goats.

“ _Green eyes_?” Scott’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So you really weren’t hallucinating then?”

“Apparently not.”

“I’m sorry but _what_?” Kira interrupted. “I seem to be missing some piece of vital information.”

“Our Captain here, had his heart stolen many years ago,” Scott begun, voice loud and tinged with laughter. “By a bonnie lad with green eyes.”

“A lad ay?” Kira snorted. “That explains so much.”

“And this bonnie lad-”

“He’s not bloody bonnie,” Stiles snapped.

“-has found himself a post in the esteemed navy,” Scott laughed.

“Oh lord,” Kira giggled.

“And he just so happened to be on board the very same ship that tried to capture us.”

“Well aint that the love story of the ages,” the first mate chuckled. “And lemme guess, you had to save your bonnie lad from the swiftness of Whittemore’ blade?” she teased. “Did he know who the lad was?” Stiles shook his head. “Too bad, I’m sure he’d understand if he knew you were only protecting your fragile heart.”

“One day, I’m going to maroon you both,” Stiles muttered as they finally reached the gates of the gentleman’s house. “Now shut up and act like you weren’t raised in a gutter,” he ordered, pushing the heavy iron gates open.

**⌘**

“Oh lord, Captain,” Liam wheezed. “You should’ve seen her – she went absolutely ballistic when we told her where you and Yukimura had gone, face went red as anything an’ all,” he laughed, gesturing over to where Lady Cora was now standing stock still, eyes fixed on their first mate. “Not sure if she was mad at being left out of the loop or mad that she was on her own or mad that Yukimura was off doing something dangerous!”

Stiles watched as Kira chatted away to Master Parrish, ignoring Lady Cora completely but undoubtedly aware of her eyes on her. It was like Lady Cora did not know what to do with this woman before her, accustomed as she was to seeing Kira dressed in breeches and a weather worn shirt, dirt marring her delicate features. This radiant woman dressed like someone from the English court Cora had been raised in was completely jarring.

“Those two are either going to kill each other, or team up and kill us all,” Stiles snorted, making Liam keel over with laughter once again.

“Afternoon Captain,” Master Parrish greeted him. “Yukimura says business went well today?”

“Aye, those rubies we put her in worked the charm, poor sod could barely take his eyes off her,” Stiles chuckled.

“There’s um, something I wanted to talk to you about?” Jordan asked hesitantly.

Stiles had known the sailing master far longer than any other soul on board the ship. He, like Stiles, had come from English noble birth, the third son of an Earl. He had been in the navy and Stiles had grown up with him at court, had spent hours listening to his tales of the sea. By the time Stiles found him again, Jordan had been through hell and back, capture and marooned by some vengeful pirate, lost a leg in a sailing accident, arrested wrongly for desertion in Port Royal… Stiles found him practically decomposing in a cell when he was fetching a few of his men who had ended up in a bar brawl. He had broken him out and fled the port that same night, leaving Jordan in the capable hands of Braeden.

“Of course,” he nodded, gesturing inside and the two men headed for the great cabin. “How can I help you?”

“I want out,” Jordan rushed, getting it out fast before he lost his nerve.

“What?” Stiles replied, startled.

“I want out Stiles,” he repeated. “I want to marry Valerie and she won’t have me if I’m still sailing the high seas with you,” he sighed. “Besides, I was never really cut out to be a pirate lad, it’s been great, don’t get me wrong… but I’m tired of wondering if I’ll ever see land again every time we set sail.”

“You’re leaving me?” Stiles clarified, unable to process that his oldest friend was saying.

“Not yet, I wouldn't do that to you Stiles… But eventually, soon maybe. I’ll wait until you can find another sailing master, god knows they’re hard to come by so probably not for a while yet,” he explained.

“Okay,” Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry Stiles,” Jordan whispered. “I’ll only be here in Tortuga so it’s not like you won’t be able to come and visit, tell me all your awe inspiring stories,” he tried to joke.

“But you’ll wait until we find a replacement – god knows no one can really replace you though, Jordan,” Stiles confessed, voice taught with emotion. “You’re like my brother.”

“And I always will be… But I gotta think about my future some time and I really want Val in my future,” Jordan explained.

“Well I can’t fault you for that, she is a bonnie lass,” Stiles chuckled, easing the tension. “I expect free booze from her when we visit, payment for taking my sailing master away,” Stiles teased.

“If we did that, The Hound’s Head would go under in no time,” Jordan protested with a laugh and the wired emotions between them were pushed to the side. Stiles wondered briefly whether he should tell Jordan about Derek but the thought of actually speaking about him to someone who knew him was too much. It was bad enough when Lady Cora tried to bring him up. So he let it be.

**⌘**

“We should be ready to sail with the tide tomorrow morning,” Stiles noted as they waved their way through the filth of the street towards their favourite tavern. “We’ve got supplies to last us over a month and a couple of new hands to replace Owens and Brown.”

“Where are we heading? Anywhere in particular?” Scott inquired.

“Not sure yet, just try and stay out of the navy’s reach for a bit – was planning on leaving Lady Cora here and buying her passage back to England but no one’s sailing that way soon and any that are I wouldn't trust for shit so we’re still going to have the navy breathing down our necks for a bit.”

The three of them – Stiles, Scott and Liam – pushed their way into the tavern, ignoring the stillness that settled over the place at Stiles’ presence. It was nothing like the effect he had in other ports because Tortuga was far more accustomed to the likes of them than places like Port Royal but it was still a little unsettling.

“What can I getcha?” the busty barmaid asked when they took their seats and the hubbub started up again.

“Is your charming landlady in?” Stiles queried, making the barmaid frown in offence. Before he could correct her and say that it wasn't anything against her, the backdoor opened and Miss Clark came swaying in.

“Oh look what the tides washed up,” she laughed, nodding to the barmaid to let her know she would look after these guests.

“Well if it isn’t the Jewel of Tortuga herself,” Scott grinned, reaching over the bar to press a kiss to the unamused looking woman’s cheek.

“Miss Clark,” Liam nodded in a far more polite greeting, rewarded with a gentle smile.

“My darling Valerie,” Stiles bemoaned. “Rumour has it you are leaving me for my sailing master!”

“I shant be leaving anywhere till your sailing master leaves you,” she retorted, pulling three glasses off the shelf and setting them in front of the men. “Lord knows the two of you are unhealthily co-dependent.”

“I take offence to that,” Stiles snorted. “But you won’t really leave will you? When Jordan finally hangs up his cutlass? I don’t know what I’d do if I didn't see your bonnie face when I walked into this fine establishment.”

“Don’t you fret, the only way I’d leave this place is if someone dragged me kickin’ and screamin’ through the streets,” she promised, pouring generous helpings of her finest rum into each of the glasses. “If your sailing master can’t handle that, then he can’t handle me.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have it any other way,” Stiles smirked just as the door of the tavern flew open and a man barely out of his youth appeared, looking flustered.

“Navy – the navy’s just anchored off the shore and have already sent two rowers out,” he gasped, trying to regain his breath. The mere mention of the navy however, had attracted the attention of the entire tavern.

“Shite,” Scott cursed, throwing back his drink in a hurry.

“Was lovely catching up with ya,” Stiles nodded to Valerie, throwing his own drink back before getting up and dragging Liam with him as they disappeared out of the backdoor. “I’ll release Parrish to your mercy as soon as possible,” he shouted over his shoulder as they went.

What the devil the navy was doing in _Tortuga_ of all places, Stiles hated to think. They normally had the sense to stay well clear of the place, knowing how unwelcome they would be, especially a lone naval ship.

The three men hurry down the now deserted street, staying out of the lamplight as best they could before they reached the shore where they had left one of the smaller rowing boats. They made their way down the deserted dockside, shadows looming over them.

“How far along did we leave her,” Scott muttered under his breath.

“Too far it seems,” another voice answered from behind them and the three pirates spun around to come face to face with half a dozen naval officers who appeared to emerge from the shadows. Before they could do so much as reach for their weapons, the men grabbed ahold of them and swiftly tied their hands behind their backs. Stiles landed a couple of well-placed punches and an abrupt kick first however. “We’ve been waiting for you – Captain Argent will be delight to see you,” one of the men grinned, humourless eyes pale in the moonlight, once the three men were bound.

Shit.

It was the same ship that had attacked them a fortnight ago. The same ship with the green eyed Lieutenant. The same ship with the Captain Lady Cora had feared so much.

“Didn't really think we’d let you get away now, did you?” the same man continued, evidently the highest-ranking officer there. “Not with the precious bounty you’ve got held up in your cabin,” he sneered.

“I think you’ll find Lady Cora would take offence to being labeled as ‘precious bounty’,” Stiles quipped, never able to bite his tongue. The officer landed a well-placed blow to his stomach.

“And I think you’ll find that Captain Argent didn't much like the token you left him the last time you met,” the man hissed, spittle flying into Stiles’ face from their close proximity. “Come on boys, I’m sure the Captain will be anxiously awaiting their arrival,” he smirked, pulling back and addressing the other men.

The three of them were hauled roughly back along the dockside, two men holding Stiles and two on Scott, whilst Liam was only being yanked along by the one man with a dagger pointing into his ribs. The one who did all the talking strolling ahead of them.

Before long they found themselves being hoisted into a large rower and pushed out to sea, the men beside them pulling even strokes as they headed out to the looming figure of the naval ship. Illuminated by the moonlight, Stiles could make out the gold lettering of the ship’s name on her stern: _The Deliverance_.

“Where’s the Captain?” the man asked as soon as they were aboard.

“Still on land sir,” came the reply. “Said he had some business with a lady,” the lad added, leering a little and making Stiles’ insides squirm in discomfort.

“Alright, lock them in the brig,” he ordered, evidently put out at having to wait to deliver his captives.

As they were hauled across the deck and shoved inside, Stiles could have sworn he saw a flicker of green glimmering in the pale light right before the doors slammed shut behind him and he was shoved further into the hull of the ship.

**⌘**

“Well I can't say this is how I envisioned my night going,” Liam commented once the key had clicked in the lock. A guard posted several meters away glared at them but said nothing.

“No one’ll even think to look for us till morning,” Scott sighed, scuffing the floor with his boot before sitting down and leaning against the wooden planking of the ship. “Probably think we fell asleep on the beach again.”

“That was one time McCall,” Stiles muttered.

It was hard to tell how much time passed as no light penetrated this far below deck. Stiles could make out the faint slapping of waves against the ships’ sides somewhere above his head but the strange oppressiveness of being this far from the surface, surrounded by the ocean with only a few wooden planks in the way… It was something Stiles could never decided whether he loved or hated. The bars, needless to say, he definitely _did_ hate.

After what felt like hours, the three of them drifting in and out of sleep on the uncomfortable wooden floors, a door opened and a small kid walked in, barely out of childhood. The guard merely glanced his way before resuming staring at the opposite wall.

“Lieutenant said to give you this,” the boy muttered, holding a mangled looking loaf of bread out, pushing it between the rusty bars. “For the Captain,” he added with a frown. Stiles quickly grabbed the bread and tore a chunk off, not realizing how hungry he had been. Stuffing it in his mouth, he tore another couple of chunks off for Scott and Liam and was about to rip himself another piece when his fingertips brushed against something hard and cold.

Glancing down, Stiles saw the familiar black iron bow of a key and his stomach swooped uncomfortably. Swallowing the lump of bread in his mouth, Stiles quickly looked up to see the boy pulling open the door.

“Wait, lad,” Stiles called out, beckoning the boy back to him. The guard merely glared at him but did nothing to stop the boy returning. “This Lieutenant… you think you could find him again?” he asked. The boy frowned but nodded. “Could ya… Could ya pass him a message for me? Could you tell ‘im… Tell him that the sun still rises in the east.”

“I should think he already knows that,” the boy snorted.

“Yeah, but could ya tell him for me anyway? He’ll know what it means,” Stiles smiled bitterly.

“If you says so,” the kid muttered but nodded anyway before disappearing out the door and leaving Stiles to slump back against the metal bars keeping him in. Except that they weren’t really. Because Stiles had the key. The only problem was the guard sitting in the corner.

Suddenly a ruckus could be heard from the above deck, the sound of yelling and a pistol firing echoing across the shattered stillness of ship. The guard ignored it for several long drawn out minutes before finally sparing them a disdainful glance and going up to investigate.

The moment the door closed behind him, Stiles ripped the key from the remnants of the loaf and fitted it into the lock, angling his arm awkwardly to twist it and ignoring the noises of surprise Scott and Liam were giving him.

“Come on, we don’t have long,” Stiles muttered, ushering them out and sneaking along the corridor. On the floor above they moved away from the direction of the din and found an open porthole, which they squeezed through. Finally back on the deck with the breeze in his hair, Stiles glanced around for a means of escaping the ship. Sparing a look over the edge to see how far down the jump would be if they had to swim for it, he noticed a tiny rowing boat bobbing on the water in the early morning light.

Scott made a disbelieving whistle when he saw what Stiles was looking at and immediately grabbed a rope to lower himself down with. Liam shot Stiles a somewhat awed look before following suit and soon the three of them were hastily rowing across to where _The Liberty_ was floating a few hundred yards away as the first rays broke across the horizon.

“Am I supposed to understand how we just escaped?” Liam finally asked once they were in the shadow of their ship. Scott just shook his head in amusement and clambered aboard. “Sometimes you scare me a little, Captain,” he confessed, before following Scott.

Having ascertained that everyone was on board and avoided questioning from Jordan and Jackson, Stiles set the order to sail before the navy realised their prisoners had escaped. He could only hope their Captain had not returned yet and therefore they would be unable to set sail after them once they realised _The Liberty_ was hauling anchor.

“Seems your _green eyes_ couldn't quite bear the thought of letting his Captain get to you,” Scott murmured as they watched the chaos on board _The Deliverance_ unfold and two rowers sent to shore, no doubt to fetch their Captain.

Stiles said nothing, only tilted his telescope to look up into the crows-nest of the navy ship where a lone figure was watching them sail away, hair billowing in the morning breeze.

**⌘**

It did not take long, of course, for _The Deliverance_ to catch up with them once again. They were only three days out to sea when the billowing white sails appeared on the horizon behind them, forewarning the imminent battle ahead. There was little point in trying to outrun them, although Stiles suspected with a bit of luck they probably could, but it seemed Captain Argent was a man of bitter determination who was unlikely to let them go. So the order rang out for the crew of _The Liberty_ to prepare for confrontation.

Cannons were loaded, pistols cleaned and ammunition divided up, swords and cutlasses polished and sharpened. Stiles, Jordan and Jackson were in the great cabin, debating the most effect way to engage the naval ship in the current conditions, ignoring Lady Cora’s protests at being locked up in her cabin again.

By the time _The Deliverance_ was in range, Stiles’ crew had possibly never been more prepared for a battle. Stiles gestured to Lydia who rang out the order to ‘ _fire away_ ’ moments before an echoing yell sounded from the enemy ship.

The booming of cannon fire shattered the stillness of the vast ocean surrounding them and the clear skies were marred with smoke and debris as the two ships engaged. It seemed this time Captain Argent was less concerned with rescuing anyone from the clutches of the pirates and more focused on sending them to a watery grave. Conflict warred inside Stiles who knew that on that ship was the green eyed Lieutenant to whom, even after all these years, his heart still belonged to.

Locked in her cabin, Lady Cora was pacing, repeatedly glancing out of the small porthole in an effort to discern what was happening outside. Jamie, who had been shut in with her, was watching her in part awe and part amusement. When another cannon ball slammed into the side of the ship, Lady Cora finally sat down, practically collapsing on the wooden floor.

“Are you alright, m’lady?” Jamie asked in concern.

“I’ll be alright when this is over,” Lady Cora confessed. “So tell me, Master Jamie, what exactly brought you onboard this ship?” she asked in an effort to distract them both from the chaos around them. “You can’t be more than six? Seven?”

“I’ll be eight soon,” Jamie grinned.

“So how did you end up becoming a _pirate_?” she questioned in a secretive tone, drawing the young boy in. “Don’t you have a worried mama somewhere?”

“My mama died, that’s why the Captain took me with him. He was a friend of my mama’s you see,” Jamie explained, nodding his head seriously, thrilled an adult was paying attention to him and speaking to him like a grownup, especially one as beautiful as Lady Cora.

“How long have you been onboard then?” she queried, partly to occupy her mind with something other than the repeated sound of cannon fire and partly from a deep-rooted curiosity about the boy.

“Almost seventeen months,” he declared proudly. “The Captain’s been making me keep a diary.”

“Has he now-” Cora was cut off as something exploded to their right.

**⌘**

“Could you at least _try_ not to sink it!” Stiles bellowed at Lydia as the men reloaded the guns.

“It’s not like they’ve got any precious cargo left and we’ve got supplies to last for months,” the master-gunner yelled back. “They’re just gonna keep hunting us down unless we send ‘em to Davy Jones!”

“Ugh,” was all Stiles could respond with, not being able to find the words to explain that there was a certain _someone_ on that ship that he would really rather stayed alive. “Make this the last round and then we’re boarding them!” he ordered and a moment later the blasting of cannons deafened him once more.

Once the smoke cleared, Stiles gave the order and his men swarmed across onto _The Deliverance_ , cutlasses and pistols already out. Absolute, unprecedented chaos reigned for what seemed like hours; sweat mixing with salt water on their backs as they fought against the might of the navy. Men were dropping to the decks with echoing thumps, whether from exhaustion or injury it was often hard to tell as the water washing over the wooden planks turned red.

“Captain,” Kira called out, beckoning him over and pointing at some of the damage their guns had caused. “This ship won’t last the night,” she murmured as they watched water flood in through the gaping hole. “I’m not sure they’ve even noticed.”

“We need to stop the fighting – anyone who surrenders we’ll put in the brig and take back to port, anyone who doesn't… well they can go down with this godforsaken ship,” he muttered. “Let McCall and Whittemore know if you find them,” he added on, before stepping back out into the fray and disarming – literally – a bluecoat that jumped out at them.

Before long Captain Argent had been cornered up of the aft deck, reminiscent of when Kira had captured him there before. Only this time, it was Scott who had a blade to the Captain’s throat. Bit by bit the fighting ceased as men realised what had happened.

“Men!” Stiles roared over the remnants of fighting. “This is your chance to surrender.”

A ripple of whispers spread through the bluecoats as they watched Stiles walk along the gunwale up to where Scott had their Captain hostage.

“Your ship is sinking,” he told them plainly. “Your Captain has been captured and you are miles from land,” he continued, still balancing on the gunwale. “You can either surrender now or you can meet your fate at the bottom of the ocean. It’s your decision.”

The whispers across the deck increased, men debating the truth of his words. In a flash of bravery, one of the officers leapt forward and tried to attack Stiles. He was felled by Kira. In the ruckus that subsequently broke out, Captain Argent reached for his pistol whilst Scott was distracted, grabbing it swiftly and aiming it point blank and Stiles. Before he could so much as put his finger in place to fire, the dagger Scott had been holding to his neck broke the skin and the Captain’s lifeblood spluttered from the gaping wound in his throat for a moment before his lifeless body slumped to the ground.

“Let us not waste any more lives today,” Stiles called out into the abrupt silence. “Put down your weapons and make your choice.”

**⌘**

In the end, after another round of disheartened fighting after one of the other officers rallied them, only half the naval crew was even still alive and less than half of them were willing to risk surrendering completely to pirates. Those that were, were horded aboard _The Liberty_ and shoved roughly into the brigs, crammed tightly and unable to sit. Those that weren’t, well they either sank with their ship or died of thirst and exposure in a rowing boat searching for land.

**⌘**

“I can't believe you talked me into this,” Isaac hissed, glancing in fear towards where three pirates were standing guard over the multitude of naval men in their hull.

“And what? You’d have rather drowned on that godforsaken ship?” Derek retorted, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “If I had any respect for the Captain then maybe I’d have considered it but I’ve given too many years to that vile man and I wasn't about to give my life,” he stated.

“But these are _pirates_ Derek,” Isaac hissed, eyes wide and afraid. “They’re barely even _people_. God knows what they’ll do to us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” the taller one rolled his eyes. “They are just sailors who live outside the law. They could have let us all drown but they gave us the option to live and I think that speaks somewhat for their character.”

“Exactly – they _should’ve_ let us drown, begs the question of why they wanted us _alive_.”

“Look… this Captain, he’s not like that,” Derek frowned, not even sure he was speaking the truth. For after all, what did he know of the infamous Captain Blackheart?

“It’s Captain _Blackheart_!” Isaac practically squealed. “He’s the worst one there is!”

“Aye and he’ll cut out yer tongue if ya make a noise like that again,” someone snapped from the other side of the iron grate. Despite the harsh words, their voice was somehow velvety and deep. Glancing up, Derek spotted one of the pirates that had been slouched against the door earlier standing right before him.

He stood just above average height, loose white shirt stained with sweat and salt hiding what he suspected was a rather muscular body and his breeches were tucked into knee high leather boots that he must have stolen from some fancy merchant. His head was cleanly shaved and the whites of his eyes stood out against the darkness of his skin, stare piercing in the dim light of the cabin and fixed sharply on Derek.

“Apologies sir,” Derek found himself saying. “My companion has a rather nervous disposition.”

“Well see to it that he stays quiet,” he ordered, sparing Isaac only the briefest of glances but making him quiver nonetheless, before he wandered back to his previous position, rolling his eyes at the crooked jawed man who was watching them in amusement.

Derek caught Isaac staring after the pirate, expression torn between fear and wonder.

“Excuse me sir,” Derek called out, attracting the other man’s attention, as he seemed to be in charge down here. The man merely raised an eyebrow. “I wish to speak to your Captain,” he stated far more bravely than he felt.

“Do ye now?” the man chortled, an echo of chuckles sounding from the rest of the pirates. “And what makes ye think he’ll want to speak to you?”

“Let me rephrase, I _will_ speak to your Captain,” Derek demanded.

“Oh will you?”

“Unless, of course, he wants me to tell his entire crew who he really is,” he blackmailed, heart pounding in his chest from both fear of how the pirate would react and absolute terror at the prospect of actually _seeing their Captain_. Beside him Isaac made an undignified noise of protest.

“You do have rather fine green eyes, don’t ye,” the crooked jawed pirate finally responded, coming forward to look at Derek more closely. Then he nodded to himself before suddenly jumping away and striding out of the room, door swinging shut behind him.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Isaac squealed and Derek spared a quick glance at the dark skinned pirate, who was watching them expressionlessly. “Are you _trying_ to get your tongue cut out?”

**⌘**

“How many bloody noblewomen are we gonna have on this bloody ship?” Jackson was raving, unusually impassioned. “We’re going to end up with the entirety of the royal navy on our tail!”

“Relaxed, she’s not even an aristocrat,” Stiles snorted. “She’s just some gentleman’s granddaughter.”

“Yeah gentleman my arse! He was a fuckin’ naval Captain! That’s pretty fuckin’ high ranking if ya ask me!” Jackson continued to yell whilst Stiles watched on in amusement.

“We could hardly have let her drown,” the Captain pointed out.

“I beg to differ,” his quartermaster muttered, finally lowering his voice.

The woman in question was staring out of one of the portholes, a rather bored expression on her face. They had found her eating luncheon in the great cabin of _The Deliverance_ when they were scouring the ship for anyone trying to hide. She had barely said a word as Liam had led her onto _The Liberty_ , merely making a disapproving noise at having to pick up her skirts to avoid the blood awash on the deck.

“Master Whittemore, is it?” she suddenly spoke up, turning to fix her eyes on the quartermaster. “I understand your concern but I can promise you no one shall miss me all that much. My mother has been buried a decade, my father lost to sea not long after, and I have no aunts or uncles left to care about my whereabouts. The only reason I was onboard that ship to begin with was because my grandfather refused to pay for anyone to keep me and he liked to keep his officers amused,” she stated. “Your concern, whilst understandable, is unnecessary.”

Both the quartermaster and the Captain stared at her for several moments, unsure how best to respond when the cabin door slammed open and Scott came sauntering in, smirking slightly.

“Mr McCall,” Stiles begun before his friend, who had yet to notice to woman present, said anything too unsavory. “This is Miss Allison Argent, the Captain’s daughter,” he introduced her. “And this is Mr McCall, my boatswain,” he added, gesturing to Scott.

“At this rate we’re gonna ‘ave more women on board this ship then us men,” Scott snorted. “Good’ay to ya, Miss Argent,” he added before turning back to Stiles. “There’s a certain, um, _green eyed_ prisoner who’s wanting to see ye,” he smirked. “Said if we didn't bring ‘im to you he’d tell yer whole crew who ya really are.”

And with those few words, Scott broke down the careful damn Stiles had built in his mind about who _exactly_ he was holding prisoner in his brig. Jackson gave them both a funny look, unsure why Scott would even consider telling their Captain something so inane. Miss Argent, however, raised her eyebrow in curiosity.

“I’m busy,” Stiles finally muttered, not meeting Scott’s eye.

“You're going to have to talk to him,” Scott leaned down to whisper. “I’m not all to sure that he won’t carry out his threat and I’m not sure how some of the men will take to it.”

“Tell him I’m busy and I’ll deal with him later.”

“You’re only postponing the inevitable,” the boatswain chuckled but nodded anyhow.

“Could you get Yukimura for me?” Stiles asked just before Scott opened the door. “She’s gonna have to find room in her cabin for another lass,” he groaned, not looking forward to the chewing out he was going to receive from his first mate.

“Miss Argent can have my cabin, there’s no way you’ll get another in Yukimura’s and I wouldn't wanna subject her to Lady Cora’s wrath anyhow,” Scott shrugged. “I’ll just bunk with Liam, lord knows he’s become too high’en’mighty since he got his own cabin.”

“If you’re sure,” Stiles sighed in relief, knowing Scott’s cabin was far more secure than Kira’s anyway. “Send Lady Cora in then, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have some company.”

**⌘**

Hours later, when Derek was positive darkness had fallen again and he was about to be subjected to his second night in the brig of a pirate ship, the door cracked open and the crooked jawed pirate reappeared. The pirate who had taken over from the dark skinned man nodded to him in greeting but said nothing. Pulling out his pistol, he lifted it so the men inside the brig could see it before fitting a key into the lock and opening the grate.

“Come on then lad,” the pirate beckoned and it took a moment for Derek to realise he was being spoken to. Jumping to attention and stepping out of the brig, he waited as the man shut and relocked the grate before gesturing for Derek to lead the way out.

The layout of the ship was somewhat unfamiliar but not drastically different than the naval ships Derek was accustomed to so he was able to at least reach the top deck where the great cabin would be without much direction from the pirate behind him. The pirate who would occasionally nudge him with his pistol in the right direction.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a solid oak door, intricately carved and radiating wealth.

“Don’t break his heart,” was all he said before opening the door and pushing Derek inside. Stepping forward, the naval officer jumped slightly as the door shut behind him and he was left in the semi-darkness of the great cabin. Only a small lamp was lit on the desk but otherwise the room was entirely illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the row of windows looking over the stern of the ship.

Before these windows, was the silhouette of a man, coat discarded on the back of his chair and loose white shirt glowing in the light of the moon. Tick thighs filled out his dark breeches and his boots were even fancier than those of their prison guard from earlier. His hair was ruffled from both the wind and, Derek suspected, his tendency to run his fingers through it when he was nervous.

“A little dramatic, isn’t it? Waiting for the dead of night to bring me up here?” Derek could not help but snort, finally making the man sigh and turn around. Stiles’ face, even half hidden by shadows as it was, was even more beautiful than Derek remembered.

“Well I always did have a dramatic flare,” Stiles smirked, hoping the pounding of his heart was not evident in his voice.

The two men stood and stared at each other for a long moment before moving simultaneously, in the way they always had done, to meet in the middle of the cabin. Throwing his arms around Derek’s waist Stiles inhaled the scent he never thought he would smell again, even soaked in salt and sweat as it was.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you,” the taller man whispered into Stiles’ neck, lips moving against his skin. Stiles only clung harder until Derek finally pushed him away. “I thought you were dead!” he accused, green eyes fixed on Stiles’ amber. “They told me- They told me you _died_.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, still refusing to let go of the man before him, relishing in being able to actually feel him for the first time in almost a decade. All his dreams never came close to the reality of having Derek back in his arms, solid and _real_.

“You just- you _left_ ,” Derek’s expression was pained, the anguish he had suppress for years coming to the fore. “How could you just _leave_? Without a single word – no letter, nothing!”

“Derek, I’m sorry – I’m so, so sorry,” Stiles pleaded, clinging to him.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it Stiles,” Derek sighed, pushing Stiles all the way off of him. His name rolled off Derek’s tongue like a dagger to his heart. “I was _distraught_.”

“I know and I’ll explain, as best I can but I’m just- I’m sorry, okay?” Stiles choked out. “Just know that. I’m sorry.”

“Start from the beginning,” Derek ordered, moving past Stiles to sit on the cushioned window bench. The other man nodded, going over to his desk and pulling out two glasses and a bottle of his strongest rum – not the watered down stuff his crew drank. Pouring two fingers for each of them, he paused and then added another before handing one glass to Derek.

“I didn't do it, first off,” Stiles begun. “I did not kill my mother.”

“I never for a moment thought you did,” Derek interrupted, breaking the vow of silence he had set himself already. Stiles pursed his lips before taking a seat at his desk, angling the chair to face Derek and the window instead.

How was he supposed to tell Derek the truth, when it would break his heart?

“I came home, that night, and went to my father’s study to replace that bottle of his bourbon we had drunk,” Stiles inhaled, forcing himself to be calm and omit any unnecessary details that would hurt the man across from him. “When I entered the study, there was, um, a man… Holding a knife to my mother’s throat. The man had… recently caught me doing something he did not approve of, said it would ruin his family’s reputation and decimate their honour,” he tried to explain. “And he informed me that if I continued to do it, my mother would suffer.

“Now you know me, I’m not all that good at holding my tongue,” Stiles tried to joke, tears that he refused to shed thickening his throat. “So I told him he could go to hell, there wasn't any way he could stop me seeing- from doing what it was that he disapproved of,” he continued. “He got angry, naturally, and he ended up stabbing my mother in the gut – I don't think, I don’t think he meant to kill her, not really… He just wanted to show me that he would stay true to his word if he ever caught me doing that again,” Stiles sighed, staring into his untouched glass.

“I stopped then, told him I would do whatever he wanted if he would just let my mother go. When he actually did, she collapsed against my father’s desk, clutching the wound in her stomach and gasping in this terrifying, gurgling manner. It was only then, really, that the man realised what he had done, I think… He knew that if my mother lived, he would be arrested – hung if father had any say about it,” Stiles explained. “So he stabbed her again, from the back this time. And again. And again. Until my mother crumpled to the ground in a pool of her own blood – not quite dead but beyond rescue.

“Then the man looked up from my mother to me and told me to leave and never return – that if I didn't, someone else dear to me would suffer the same fate,” he choked. “And I knew he wasn't lying. I’d just seen what he did to my mother and I knew he wouldn't hesitate to do it again… Maybe it was his plan to pin it on me all along or maybe that was a fortunate bonus of my absence, I don't know,” Stiles shrugged. “But I couldn't risk staying and maybe it was cowardice, maybe it was fear… but I ran. Fled south to Bristol and offered myself up as a hand to whatever merchant vessel was sailing furthest away.

“That’s where I met Jackson Whittemore, my quartermaster, and when the ship was taken by pirates, I figured it was another step away from the life I left behind so joined them willingly. The crew mutinied against the Captain four months later and for some godforsaken reason I was voted the new Captain.

“And now here we are today,” he finished before swinging back the entire contents of his glass and relishing the burn down his throat that distracted him from the pain in his chest.

“But- But you could have _told_ me!” Derek protested once it was clear Stiles was done. “You could have come to me and we could have had this man _arrested_! You could have at least left me a note or a letter to say you were leaving, I thought-” he suddenly broke off before continuing in a much quieter voice: “I thought it was my fault.”

“No! Derek, no! It wasn't your fault,” Stiles stated, horrified the other man had even considered such a possibility. “God, I panicked, I was scared, D, I wasn't thinking straight and I ran and by the time my head had cleared I was already miles out on the Atlantic!”

“But you could have _told_ me,” Derek repeated, voice quiet and hurt.

“No Derek, I couldn't do that,” Stiles disagreed, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I couldn't risk loosing you too, okay?” Stiles snapped, forcing his gaze away from the hurt in Derek’s eyes.

“But… But no one _knew_ Stiles,” Derek sighed. “No one knew. Sure, I was your friend but no one ever knew it was _more_. Surely this man – he would have gone after your father, or your sister? He wouldn't have come after _me_ unless-” Derek broke off again, horror flooding his face and Stiles could not look him in the eye.

“Stiles…” he started. “Stiles, who was the man?”

Stiles merely shook his head, refilling his glass practically to the rim.

“Stiles, _who was the man_?” Derek repeated. “Stiles, Laura and Cora were the only people who ever knew about us,” he said as if somehow that would make it true. “Stiles Stilinski, looking me in the fucking eye and tell me who the man was that killed your mother!” Derek demanded, voice more threatening than Stiles knew he was even capable of.

“Please don't ask me that D,” the other man begged.

“Did you tell someone!” Derek accused, standing up abruptly.

“No! No, god, Derek _no_! He just found out – it was an accident, I didn't even know he knew until he had my mother at knifepoint!” Stiles rushed out, not even thinking. Suddenly Derek froze, midway through running his fingers through his mattered hair.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “I _am_ the reason.”

“No – Derek, please, that’s not-h-” Stiles begged, half out of his seat in despair.

“I’m the reason you left,” Derek stated, eyes wide in horror but face otherwise blank, like it was a truth he had long ago accepted. “That’s why the man was there, wasn't it… Because of me. Because he saw you with me.”

“Derek-” Stiles sobbed, tears finally breaking free.

“Your mother died because of _me_ ,” the older man gasped out, the full enormity of the bigger picture hitting him square in the chest.

“No!” Stiles protested. “Derek, that’s not true!”

“Isn't it!” Derek suddenly bellowed, turning to face Stiles. “Isn’t that the reason you ran away from me! Isn’t that the reason you left with so much as a single fucking word – because I’m the reason your mother is dead!” he yelled, anger and despair flooding his eyes.

“I ran away to protect you! I ran away to keep you safe because goddamn it, Derek, I _loved_ you!” Stiles shouted back, voice breaking on Derek’s name.

“If you loved me you would have stayed and we would have faced it together!”

“I couldn't do that to you! I wouldn't have been able to- He-” Stiles broke off on a sob.

“Who… was the fucking man, Stilinski?” Derek breathed out, resting his hands on the desk in front of Stiles and lowering his voice threateningly.

“Der-”

“Goddamn it Stiles, just tell me!” he yelled, slamming his hands down and making Stiles’ glass fall off the edge of the table.

“ _Hills_ ,” Stiles choked out, hating himself for caving, hating himself for all of it.

For a while neither of them made a sound. Stiles stared resolutely at the puddle of gold liquid spilling onto the floor from his overturned glass. Derek staring blankly ahead of him, trying to process what Stiles had said.

“I was trying to protect you,” Stiles repeated, barely audible in the quiet of the cabin.

“ _Hills_ ,” Derek finally repeated. “As in – _Peter_ **,** my _brother_.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed, the fight completely draining out of him.

“ _Peter_ killed your mother… Because he saw _us_ together?”

Stiles nodded.

“But- but he married _Paige_. I was best man at their _wedding_ ,” Derek choked out.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles repeated, knowing that no matter how many times he said it, it would never take away the pain he was causing Derek. Either he believed him and had to accept that his brother was a murdered. Or he didn't. And believed the man he loved had left him and lied to him.

“But- I don't _understand_.”

“He saw us, that day – when we were swimming in the lake,” Stiles explained, the memory of that perfect summer’s afternoon tainted by the events that followed. “He must have gone straight to my father’s estate… I’m so sorry, D.”

“I think… I think I need some fresh air,” Derek sighed, face blank.

“Take all the time you need,” Stiles promised, instantly getting up to head for the door. Derek followed silently behind him and as soon as the sea breeze hit him he was scampering up the mizzenmast. One of the men on watch glanced at Stiles questioningly.

“Leave him be,” he ordered, exhaustion hitting him all of a sudden. “He won’t cause any trouble.”

**⌘**

Stiles felt strangely out of place the following morning as they had breakfast in the great cabin. Jackson was regaling an unimpressed Lydia with tales from the fight, whilst Braeden watched on in amusement, eyes tired from having spent all of yesterday and the night before stitching up flesh and resetting bones. They had lost several crewmen on _The Deliverance_ and there were a few more that Braeden wasn't sure would see land again lying in the makeshift infirmary. Liam was telling Lady Cora about some of Kira’s more terrifying achievements and ignoring the first mate every time she leant in to correct him. Jordan and Scott were arguing over how long it would take to get back to Port Royal with the damage the ship had incurred and Miss Argent was watching them in restrained amusement.

Jamie kept trying to get Stiles’ attention but the Captain’s gaze was fixed on the open door, waiting for someone to walk through. Eventually though, Jamie clambered into Stiles’ lap and forced him to look at the knot he had been practicing, telling Stiles all about how Jackson had taught him a trick for it yesterday.

In the brief moment Stiles’ had looked down and away from the door, a figured had appeared in it and Lady Cora let out a startled noise.

“Derek!” she gasped, abandoning Liam midway his tale to get up and run towards the newcomer. Flinging her arms around her brother’s neck she hauled him in close and after a moment’s startled hesitation, Derek put his arms around her and picked her clean off the floor, spinning her around in burst of happiness at seeing his sister again.

“What are you doing here!” she queried, finally pulling away.

“I had no idea it was _you_ they had kidnaped!” Derek responded, completely dazed, worry and relief warring for control of his face and, for a moment, all thoughts of the night before slipping his mind.

“Yes, well luckily I was rather fortunate as their Captain-” she suddenly broke off, head whipping around to fix her gaze on Stiles. He merely raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “You knew,” she accused. Stiles nodded.

“ _Hale_?” came another surprised voice and Christ, Stiles had forgotten Jordan had known Derek back before he lost his post.

“Parrish?” Derek chuckled in delight, eyes wide in wonder.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jordan laughed, getting up and hobbling over to pull Derek into an awkward hug. “Look at ye, I barely recognized ye!”

“And this is…?” Jackson asked, turning to Stiles questioningly.

“Is this the infamous _green eyes_?” Kira suddenly piqued up, eyes sparkling in amusement. Scott grinned and nodded. “Well you do know how to pick ‘em, Captain,” she smirked.

“It appears I am missing something,” Jackson growled out, looking back at Stiles.

“Lady Cora and Mr Hale here are old acquaintances of mine from back in England,” Stiles explained vaguely. Both Kira and Scott snorted. “Please, take a seat Mr Hale,” he forced himself to add, gesturing to the table. Lady Cora wasted no time in dragging Derek into the seat beside her, pushing Kira over much to the first mate’s displeasure. Stiles did not miss the way she kept flicking her eyes between Derek and himself.

“And where exactly did you pick this Mr Hale up?” Jackson inquired.

“He’s a navy officer,” Kira replied in distain.

“Watch your tongue Yukimura – I was once a navy officer myself,” Jordan teased.

“Yes but I have to like you, you’ve only got one leg,” she snarked back.

“Yeah and I’ll not hesitate to whack you with the wooden one,” he chuckled.

From there, breakfast dissolved into its customary jibes and teasing remarks, people shouting over each other to be heard, stories elaborated and sometimes even fabricated. And Stiles watched, silently, as Derek seamlessly merged into his world.

**⌘**

Slowly the great cabin begun to empty, people scuttling away to do their jobs or take a walk upon the deck before the wind got too strong. Then only Derek and Miss Argent remained sitting at the dinning table, discussing some scrimmage _The Deliverance_ had been involved in several months beforehand. Stiles got up and headed to his desk to go over the accounts as one of the cook’s mates came in to clear the table. He did his best to ignore them.

“Captain Blackheart,” Miss Argent suddenly appeared before him, dragging him from his thoughts. It was perhaps the first time she had addressed him directly since they had killed her grandfather and sunk her ship. Not that she seemed particularly devastated about either of those events.

“Miss Argent, how can I be of assistance?” he asked.

“I was wondering where I would be able to acquire a pair of breeches and a shirt?” she asked, expression blank but eyes hard and fixed on his face almost unnervingly.

“What would you want with that?” he frowned before he could stop himself.

“To wear them obviously,” was her bland response.

“It’s not necessary – no one on this ship will lay a hand to you just because you are a woman,” he said, assuming that was what she was afraid of.

“That may be so but I suspect breeches are far more comfortable than corsets will ever be – not to mention easier to move in than tripping over skirts,” she retorted. “I’ve seen other women wearing them on this ship so it can hardly be an issue.”

“Of course not, if you would be more comfortable in breeches then of course you can wear them,” Stiles hastily replied. “Here, let me see,” he got up and headed to the selection of large trunks to the side of the cabin, tucked away out of plain sight.

Any wares that they had taken from other ships, they tended to store here and more often than not, clothing found its way into the mix. Searching through the trunks, he found the one with an assortment of clothing items, rummaging through it until he pulled out a pair of small light brown breeches – a little fine for a common sailor but Miss Argent wasn't exactly part of the crew – as well as a white shirt that was too narrow around the shoulders for any of the men and had probably belonged to some merchant’s young son.

“Here, try these,” he handed them to her. “You’ll need a belt or scarf or something to hold up the breeches mind,” he added, pulling open another trunk and rifling through until he found a simple leather belt. “Oh and here, you might as well have this,” he handed her the belt along with a dark red embroidered waistcoat. “You’ll look like a right dandy,” Stiles grinned.

“Thank you Captain,” Miss Argent nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Then she was out the door and disappearing further into the belly of the ship, leaving Stiles alone with Derek once more

Heading back over to the trunks, Stiles begun shifting through the items once more whilst Derek continued to pick idly at one of the oranges the cook’s mate had brought out. Finally, he had found the items he was searching for and brought them over to the dinning table.

“You can't very well continue to walk about in your navy-blues,” he muttered, placing the clothing on the table and avoiding looking in the general vicinity of Derek’s direction. “Besides, it might be useful to have a spare naval uniform at some point and we wouldn't want it too sullied.”

“Practical,” Derek snorted.

“Just put them on,” he ordered gruffly.

So Derek did. Stripping easily in front of Stiles like it meant nothing at all. Which, of course, it didn't. Not anymore. There had been a time when clothing was lost in a hurry, hands eager to touch skin. A time when each piece was removed tortuously slowly and with intent. But not anymore. Now he stripped from his uniform without heat, merely tugging the clothing off and casting it aside before reaching for what Stiles had laid out.

The breeches were a velvety black, clinging a little too tightly to his thighs and making Stiles _almost_ regret not choosing the slightly bigger brown pair. A thick leather belt that hung tantalizingly low on his hips held them up. Lace and ruffles adorned the shirt he had picked, sleeves coming to just below the elbow. The waistcoat was a dark, emerald green with silver stitching mapping out a delicate design of roses along the edges and it had small sliver buttons engraved with anchors, although he chose to leave it open. It brought out the green of his eyes much like Stiles had expected it too and it made his stomach tie itself in knots.

“I look ridiculous,” Derek muttered, stuffing his feet back into his worn sailing boots.

“Well you’ll certainly make most of the ladies and a good portion of the men trip over themselves when they get a glimpse of you,” Stiles snorted.

“Don’t you have something else? Something with a little less… ruffle?” he asked, tugging at the neckline of the shirt.

“I do,” Stiles nodded.

“Well could I have it?”

“Nope,” he declined.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“You're impossible,” Derek growled, throwing himself back on the cushioned chair he had been seated in for breakfast. The Captain only smirked. “Good to see your sense of humour hasn't changed,” the other man bit out, trying to run his hand through his hair but encountering too many knots and matted chunks.

“I could brush it for you,” Stiles said, words escaping his mouth before he could hold them in check and a blush blooming instantly in his cheeks. “If you like,” he added, shrugged and feinting nonchalance.

Derek just stared at him.

“Kira let’s me brush hers sometimes,” Stiles continued unable to bite his tongue and simply let the offer go. “After a particularly unpleasant battle – soothes us both I guess.”

Standing up, he headed to the side of the cabin where an additional door led to his sleeping quarters. Coming back with a fine hairbrush, he watched for any sign from Derek that he was opposed to the idea. When none came, he positioned himself behind the other man’s chair and gently begun to brush out the ends.

“How did you meet Yukimura?” Derek asked, leaning forward to give Stiles better access.

“Her mother was Captain of _The_ _Kitsune_ … She was one of the most notorious pirate ships in the Caribbean,” Stiles explained, words matching the strokes of the brush. “Kira’s father died when she was about nine and her mother couldn't bear to be separated from her so she took her on board. She sailed with her for over a decade before another ship attacked them in the dead of night and her mother was killed. They took Kira on board with them and sunk _The_ _Kitsune_.

“When the ship – _Imelda_ – attacked a merchant vessel sailing from England, they found me on board and I willingly joined them. Kira was the one who led the mutiny against the previous Captain… I’m pretty sure she was also the one who blackmailed the rest of the crew to vote for me afterwards. So I really owe everything to her,” he said, voice soft as he spoke of his closets friend.

“Tandy and McCall were also part of the crew on the _Imelda_ and when we defeated our first naval ship they transferred ships with me,” he explained.

“This ship belongs to the navy?”

“ _Belonged_ ,” he corrected. “And yes, we renamed her of course but yes she was built by the British navy originally.”

“Explains why the layout is so similar I guess.”

“Yes but she’s much more beautiful than she was when we commandeered her.”

“Well I won’t dispute that,” Derek chuckled, eyes raking in the flamboyant additions of the pirates.

Stiles fell silent, focusing his attentions on brushing smooth strokes through Derek’s hair, untangling the knots and brushing out the grime. His fingertips feather light against the other man’s scalp. There was something inherently calming about brushing someone’s hair, back in England he had always set aside time to brush his sister’s hair. It was a subtle excuse to be close. To show affection. It had taken him a few years for Kira to be comfortable enough.

“I believe you, you know,” Derek finally murmured. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat and his fingers twisted into the hair he was untangling. “I don't know why – I know you could be lying but… well I don't see why you would lie about something like _this_ and I just… I believe you.”

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” Stiles whispered, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against the back of Derek head.

“I just don't know what to _do_ ,” Derek confessed.

“Nothing, there’s nothing you can do.”

“But I feel so…” he gestured vaguely with his hands and somehow Stiles understood.

“You learn to live with it.”

“But he’s my _brother_ , you know. We were never that close but… he’s still my brother.”

“I know… but there is nothing you can do.”

“What about _Paige_. She’s _married_ to him and she has no _idea_.”

Stiles did not have a response for that. It made him sick to the stomach ever since Lady Cora had told him but there was really very little he could do. Paige was thousands of miles away, probably happy even if it was based off lies. If he were to return… well, he risked Peter hurting her. Or he would hurt her himself by revealing her husband to be what he really was.

“Do you think- do you think you could braid it?” Derek suddenly asked, hand reaching up to run fingers through the untangled threads. “Less chance of it getting knotted.”

“Would you like a ribbon?”

“Do you have one that matches?” Derek asked, gesturing to his waistcoat. Stiles nodded and watched as Derek walked to the back of the cabin and took a seat on the cushioned bench by the window. Collecting a green ribbon from the box on his desk, Stiles took a seat behind him, tucking one foot beneath him and sitting sideways on the bench to reach his hair.

“Right dandy, you are,” he chuckled. “Far too flamboyant for the navy, that’s for sure.” He wove the ribbon into the brown curls, pulling them into a plait at the nap of Derek’s neck.

“Wasn’t really planning on joining the navy,” Derek confessed.

“What prompted you?”

“Things got… Well, I sort of lost it a bit – after you left,” he sighed. “Then there was _an_ _incident_.”

“An incident? Sounds ominous.”

“Yes, well, it may have involved the wife of a duke.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles chastised, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy curdling in his stomach.

“Not my proudest moment,” Derek frowned. “But anyway, it was a bit of a scandal and my mother suggested maybe I should get out of the country for a while. She seemed to think that me remaining in places that reminded me of you was not helping. A little ironic, really, that I’ve ended up here,” he snorted.

“I should have left you a letter, I know that,” Stiles sighed. “But when I put pen to paper, the words just wouldn't come. I couldn't tell you what really happened and nothing else would have seemed adequate. I couldn't imagine saying goodbye to you so I just… I just didn't.”

“I see why you did it… I don’t agree with it. But I understand it.”

“Doesn't mean I’m not sorry.”

“I’d be cross if it did,” Derek smirked, a teasing tone lightening his voice and evoking a smile from the cold hearted Captain. Finishing tying the ribbon at the bottom, Stiles pulled the plait straight with a slightly harder than necessary tug.

“All done.”

“Thank you,” Derek smiled. “I can never do them myself and I once asked Isaac to do it and once was once too many,” he chuckled.

“Isaac?” Stiles could not help but query.

“Isaac Lahey, Earl of Wolverly technically – he was the sailing master on _The Deliverance_ , my cousin and only friend I had on board to be honest.”

“A sailing master?”

“One of the best.”

“Did he come aboard with you?”

“Yes, he’s in the brig – probably panicking about me actually, is there anyway I can get a message to him? He probably thinks you’ve exacted some kind of twisted punishment on me – absolutely shit scared of pirates.”

“Maybe,” Stiles shrugged noncommittally. “Now that you look sufficiently like a pirate, I think its only right you get on deck and make yourself useful.”

“What?”

“McCall will show you around – unless, of course, you want to go back to the brig?” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“No!”

“Well then, get to work. The crew would not be impressed if they learned I let a naval lieutenant breakfast with me and then not put him to work.”

“Fine,” Derek grumbled, getting up and running a hand over his plait once more. Stiles let him out first before following him onto the deck.

“McCall!” Stiles bellowed and a few moments later the crooked jawed pirate appeared before them. “Take Hale here, would you? Put him to use somewhere, don’t worry he’s not as soft as he looks,” he teased, shoving Derek in Scott’s direction. The boatswain smirked but nodded, slapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder and leading him off.

Climbing onto the aft deck, Stiles nodded to Kira, who was at the helm.

“So how is the beautiful _green eyes_?” she asked. “You’ve made him look like a proper pirate – better watch out no one else tries to sweep him off his feet.”

“Why you think Lady Cora might be interested?” he queried, trying to get a rise out of his first mate. The woman merely pursed her lips and stared ahead. “You like her,” he accused.

“Don’t be daft.”

“I wouldn't worry about it – Hale’s her brother and most of the crew already view her as yours.”

“She isn’t property you know,” Kira snapped, although she did look somewhat relived at the knowledge Stiles’ _green eyes_ was related to Lady Cora and therefore not likely to pursue her.

“Of course not… But her heart? I suspect it does belong to you.”

“And what use would I have with her heart?” Kira muttered, not meeting Stiles’ eye.

“She was betrothed, you know, to some old man back in England. Every time her parents tried to arrange the wedding she would come up with some elaborate reason to postpone. Eventually her suitor grew tired of waiting and moved on,” he chuckled at them memory. “She’s twenty-nine now, practically an old maid.”

“Excuse you,” Kira snorted.

“What I’m trying to say is that Lady Cora has no more interest in getting married to boring old men than you do,” Stiles elaborated. “She’s a hopeless romantic – wouldn't settle for anything less than true love. Seems fitting she’d find it after being accidentally kidnapped by pirates,” he chuckled.

“Firstly, a lot can change in a decade and secondly, someone like Lady Cora? They don’t fall in love with the first mate – they fall in love with the Captain, or their rescuer on a white horse or some bullshit,” Kira rolled her eyes.

“Seems like Lady Cora isn’t the only one with her head stuck in fairytales,” Stiles teased. “Now have you seen Whittemore?”

**⌘**

“Which one of you is Lahey?” Jackson’s voice rang out over the murmuring of their prisoners. No one responded. “Don’t worry I’m not gonna gut ye.”

“This one,” a gruff man with a thick beard barked out, tugging on the collar of a man with wide blue eyes who looked like he had soiled his breeches.

“Full name?” Jackson asked.

“Isaac Lahey,” the man replied, voice strong and steady despite his evident terror. “Earl of Wolverly, Sailing Master for the Royal Navy,” he added.

“That’s the one,” Stiles nodded and Jackson waved his pistol around before unlocking the brig and dragging Lahey out. Stiles led the way, with Jackson and Lahey following, up to the great cabin. “Take a seat,” he offered and Lahey sat precariously on one of dinning chairs at the large table. Jackson sat on Stiles’ desk.

“No need to look so scared, mate,” Jackson chuckled.

“What have you done to Derek?” Isaac suddenly blurted out.

“Hale is fine,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “And apparently _you_ are a _sailing master_?”

“I am.”

“And how long have you been in that post?” Jackson asked.

“Four years.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“And have already been sailing master for four years? You must be quite good.”

“I am,” Lahey stated, shoulders squared proudly.

“So it would seem,” Jackson raised an eyebrow at Stiles, who nodded. “It just so happens that we are currently looking for a replacement for our current sailing master,” he explained. “You see, he wishes to retire and we would love to be accommodating but we need to fine a replacement first – only fair you see.”

“What Master Whittemore is trying to say,” Stiles interrupted. “Is that we were wondering if you would be interested in the position. You must be rather good at your job if you’ve held the post for four years in the navy no less – so your abilities are not really the question. We won’t force you, of course – if you decline the offer we will let you go with the rest of your crew when we reach Port Royal.”

“You want me to become a pirate?” Lahey asked incredulously, just as the door swung open and Derek appeared.

“Stiles can you tell your bloody spaniel that I’m not fucking incompetent!” he snapped, clearly at wits end due to Scott’s skewed sense of humour. A few of wisps of his hair had escaped the plait Stiles had pulled them into and were now framing his face, caressing his temples and ears.

“Mr Hale,” Stiles smirked.

“Derek!” Isaac exclaimed at the same time, dragging Derek’s attention away from Stiles.

“Isaac? What’s going on?”

“What’s going on! Why are you dressed like a pirate!” Isaac squawked.

“Well I could hardly go around in navy-blues. Why are you up here?”

“We’ve offered Mr Lahey here the position of sailing master,” Stiles explained.

“They want me to become a pirate,” Isaac hissed.

“There are worse things you could be, son,” Jackson said, although Lahey could not have been more than a few years younger than him. “And I can assure you that you aren’t the first former naval officer to turn to our way of life – take Parrish for example, our current sailing master, he used to serve in the navy.”

“Wait, why are you replacing Parrish?” Derek frowned.

“He wants to get married, help his missus run ‘er tavern down in Tortuga – The Hound’s Head,” Jackson supplied.

“And you want the _Earl of Wolverly_ to replace him?”

“Wouldn't be the first noble either,” Jackson muttered, eyes flicking to Stiles.

“It’s not your call, Hale,” Stiles interrupted. “It’s _Lord Wolverly’s_ ,” he intoned.

“At sea, it’s just Master Lahey,” Isaac corrected, oblivious to Stiles’ mocking tone.

“Well, it’s only _Master_ if you accept the post,” Stiles amended.

“Can I think about it?” he asked, surprising both himself and Derek by not outright declining the offer.

“Of course, you have until we reach Port Royal to decide.”

**⌘**

That evening found Isaac and Derek sprawled out on the cushioned bench at the back of the great cabin. Not official crew, they could not bunk with the rest of the men and sending them back to the brigs was hardly an option. So the great cabin it was.

“So let me get this straight… You used to be best friends with the most notorious pirate in the Caribbean?” Isaac muttered, face illuminated by the moonlight shining through the windows.

“In the _world_ ,” Derek corrected. “And yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Because he looks at you the way Camden used to look at Sofia,” Isaac breathed out, voice steady despite the insinuation and the mention of his late brother. Derek said nothing so he continued. “And you kind of look at him the same way.”

“Are you implying that I am in love with Captain Blackheart?” Derek finally murmured.

“Am I wrong?”

“No. No I guess not,” Derek sighed. “But it was years ago, he doesn't feel the same any more.”

“Why? Because you spent a decade apart? You just admitted to still having feelings for him even after all this time so who’s to say that he cannot still have feelings for you in return?”

“I hate it when you become philosophical,” Derek lied, shifting uncomfortably and glancing to the door behind which Stiles was sleeping. The truth was, Stiles didn't feel the same. Stiles had left. He had left Derek behind and regardless of reasoning, you didn't leave behind someone you loved. “I learned the name of that pirate who told you he’d cut out your tongue if you squealed again. His name’s Vernon Boyd, McCall had him watch me this afternoon – he’s terrifying,” he said, changing the subject.

“He was on watch whilst you were up here last night,” Isaac confessed, happily allowing Derek to turn the conversation away from the Captain. “He _is_ a little terrifying," he agreed but with far less humour than Derek.

“I doubt he’d do anything to harm you without Stiles’ permission though,” he frowned at Isaac’s tone.

“I know… I just feel… _unsettled_ around him.”

“Oh? Like _bad_ unsettled? Or… you know, _good_ unsettled?”

“I’m not sure – but either way it’s bad.”

Isaac’s voice was quiet, hesitant and it occurred to Derek how easily he had accepted that Derek had feelings for another man. So easily, that it could not have been the first time he had had such thoughts. Perhaps… Perhaps Derek and Stiles were not the only ones.

“Because of Erica?” he hedged, unsure if he should even voice the suggestion.

“I love my wife,” Isaac’s voice was firm and unflinching. Because he did. He loved his wife more than he had ever expected to when his father had made the match. She was from the Spanish nobility and had come with him to this area of the world, taking up residence in Port Royal whilst Isaac sailed with the navy. And Derek was relieved, if a little surprised, that it was the idea he would be disloyal to his wife that Isaac objected to and not that the person in question was a man. “God, I hope we get back to Port Royal before news of _The Deliverance_ does.”

“What do you think she’s say if she knew you were considering taking up a life of piracy?”

“I don’t know, I’ll put the idea to her before I make up my mind,” Isaac shrugged and Derek always admired how unashamed he was to care about his wife’s opinions.

“Do you want to?”

“Be a pirate? I don’t know. They don’t seem half as terrifying as I thought they were. What about you? Do you think you’ll stay on board with them?”

“I don’t know,” Derek sighed, eyes turned to the window to watch the moonlight ripple across their wake.

**⌘**

The journey back to Port Royal took longer than anticipated and it was a good few weeks before shouts of ‘land ahoy’ could be heard from the rigging. During those weeks Stiles and Derek circled each other in a strange game that neither seemed to know the rules to. They were not acquaintances, too deep were the feelings between them; nor were they stranger, too much history that could not be ignored. But they weren’t friends either; too careful of their words when the other was near, too worried about upsetting the delicate balance they had created between them. And they certainly were not lovers, no matter how much Stiles burned every time they touched, every morning when Derek would let him braid his hair and every evening when they bid each other good night, Stiles disappearing into his quarters whilst Derek and Isaac remained in the great cabin.

So instead, Stiles focused his attention on his crewmates. He noted the longing gazes Kira threw at Lady Cora whenever the latter was not paying attention, too busy making idle conversation with the rest of the crew. He saw the way Boyd’s eyes lingered a little too long on the broad shoulders of the naval sailing master when Jackson put him to work in the rigging. He watched as Scott showed Miss Argent around, teaching her everything he possibly could and she absorbed it with keen eyes and quick hands.

The previous harmony and tranquility on board the decks of _The Liberty_ was now taught with tensions, with feelings that ran too deep, too soon and with no hope of a happy ending. Because once they reached their destination, the new additions that brought smiles to the faces of some of his most reserved crewmembers would leave. And they would have to figure out how to readjust in their absence, search for the balance and contentedness they had had before.

And as for his _green eyes_ … Stiles could no longer picture his ship without the slow rumble of his voice wafting down from the rigging, or the sturdy set of his shoulders as he stood at the helm, or the long line of his neck as he laughed at something over dinner. He could not imagine returning to a life without Derek in it again. But he would. He had to. Because there was nothing for Derek here. No prospects, no family, no home. Derek would leave. And Stiles would go on.

**⌘**

When at last Port Royal loomed on the horizon, Stiles gathered the higher-ranking members of his crew in the great cabin, along with several of their unexpected guests. Lady Cora was whispering secretively to Derek at the far end of the table, eyes occasionally flicking over to where Kira was studiously ignoring her. Jackson and Lydia were at loggerheads once again, lord knows what they were bickering over this time. Standing a little to the side, Miss Argent was watching over the rabble in amusement, her stance looser and more comfortable than it had been when she was first taken aboard; Scott was resolutely not looking her way.

“When we get to Port Royal, we need to restock supplies as fast as possible. Only after we’ve reloaded will we dock and let the prisoners go. I don't want them running off and bringing authorities down on us before we’re ready to set sail.”

“How many days will you be in Port Royal?” Isaac spoke up.

“Three nights, including this one,” Stiles answered. “Prisoners won’t be released until the last day. Of course, any that wish to stay on with us are at liberty to do so but navy crew don’t tend to so I doubt it will be an issue.”

“And what of…” Braeden gestured towards Lady Cora and Miss Argent in turn.

“I will purchase Lady Cora passage back to England and Miss Argent too, if she wishes,” Stiles explained. “Lahey you have until we sail to decide whether you wish to stay on board with us and Master Parrish, if he does then you are free to remain in Port Royal and take the quickest route back to Tortuga, otherwise your services will be required for a little longer, I’m afraid.”

“And what about _green eyes_?” Kira quirked an eyebrow.

“Hale is free to leave as well,” Stiles shrugged.

“But is he free to stay?” Kira pushed.

“If he wishes,” Stiles replied calmly, ignoring the pounding in his heart at the prospect of being separated from Derek again. But he had no reason to stay. “For this stay all crew will remain on board, I don't want anyone getting pissed in taverns. We’ll probably head somewhere afterwards where they can let off steam but the navy will probably be after us so we can’t risk not being prepared to leave at first sign of trouble. Understood?”

An echoing round of ‘aye Captain’s followed before people begun to disperse and Stiles could not help but think how much quieter the ship would be once all the additions had gone.

**⌘**

“Master Lahey,” a soft, velvety voice called just as he was about to disembark. Turning, Isaac spotted Boyd hanging from the rigging. Over the past few weeks that it had taken to sail back to Port Royal, the two of them had been orbiting each other, falling into conversation without meaning to, seeking one another out without intending to. Isaac’s gaze was often drawn to his agile eyes and his heart sped up the moment he appeared before him. He had tried to suppress it as best he could but feared he had given him the wrong impression nonetheless.

“Boyd,” he nodded, voice uncertain.

“You’re leaving.”

“For now,” he shrugged a little helplessly.

“To see whether your wife would mind if you took to a life of piracy,” he clarified, voice unwavering although his eyes flickered with something he could not name.

“Boyd, I-” he choked off when he pressed his finger to his lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. He reached up to take his hand and pull it away from his lips.

“It’s not okay,” he argued.

“Yes it is,” he smiled softly, sadly. “Now go – go to her. I just wanted to wish you goodbye and happiness for your future.”

“You speak as though I will not return.”

“Why should you? You’re free to go – and I sincerely doubt your wife would approve of you becoming a pirate; she would be a very special woman if she did. Go,” he ordered, a sad sort of smile lighting up his face. “Be happy.”

“Boyd…” he protested, not even sure what he wanted to say. Why did this dark-eyed man have to captivate him so completely? How was he suppose to look his wife in the eye know that a part of his heart had been given to another?

“May the tides go with you, Master Lahey,” Boyd wished him, saluting briefly before climbing back up the rigging to the crow’s nest. Isaac watched until he was so high above his head he could only make out his silhouette before he disembarked the ship and headed into the port.

**⌘**

“Stiles there is nothing _for me_ back in England,” Lady Cora argued. “My father cares more about what I can bring him through a beneficial marriage than he actually does about me and my mother feels just as trapped as I do – she would understand. When Derek was still in England, it was bearable but with both of you gone… I _hate_ it,” she confessed.

“Well maybe he’ll go back with you,” Stiles suggested.

“Don't be a fool, Stiles,” she snapped. “There is nothing on this earth that could drag him away now that he has found you again. I don’t care what stupid game the two of you are playing at the moment – we all know how it’s going to end and it’s not with Derek coming back to England with me,” she promised.

“Cora you can’t just become a pirate!” he protested.

“Why not? You did! Everyone else on this ship did!”

“You’re the daughter of a _duke_! You don’t know a thing about sailing!”

“You’re the son of a bloody _earl_! And I can learn!”

“Cora I said _no_! You’re going back to England!”

“You can’t… You can’t- _don’t make me leave her_ ,” she suddenly rushed out, slumping into the chair.

“What?”

“I won’t leave her, Stiles,” Cora sighed, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Oh.

“Oh,” he breathed out, taking a seat himself. In all honestly, he had not realised Lady Cora’s feeling went that deep. He knew Kira felt for her and suspected Cora felt something in return. But to give up your life? To give up your home and everything you knew? That required real _love_. “Oh.”

“Please don’t make me leave her,” Cora repeated.

“I-” he was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called out. “Lahey? What can I do for you?” he asked, somewhat surprised to see the sailing master back on board so soon. “Have you decided to join the treacherous life of a pirate, after all?”

“Not quite,” Isaac muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “I was wondering if… Well, my wife was wondering whether she could, um, come board?”

“Your _wife_ wants to come aboard?”

“She wants to meet the crew,” Isaac explained.

“What on earth for?”

“Um… If I _were_ to take the post, would is be possible for her to come with us?”

“Your wife wants to be a pirate?” Stiles asked, dumbfound.

“Well, sort of, yeah.”

“Bloody hell…” he sighed. “Alright, we’ll have an proper dinner this evening, Lady Cora will be there and I think Miss Argent is staying until we can find her passage so she’s won’t be entirely surrounded by uncouth pirates.”

“Thank you Captain,” Isaac nodded, ducking back out of the cabin.

“So you’ll let Lahey’s wife join you but not me!” Cora yelled the moment the door closed behind Isaac.

“Fine! Fine, you can come with us! But you’re going to have to pull your weight somehow – the crew won’t stand for having useless people aboard. And you can explain your decision to your brother, I am not responsible for that,” Stiles caved. “And for fuck’s sake tell Kira how you feel, it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Oh, you're one to talk,” she snarked but could not quite hide the grin spreading across her face.

“Get out of here, I now have to tell the cook we’re having a countess for dinner.”

“Oh relax Mrs Baldwin will be ecstatic to have such esteemed mouths to feed,” she teased.

“Mrs Baldwin isn’t actually the cook.”

“Eh, she has the cook whipped so it’s pretty much the same thing,” Cora shrugged.

**⌘**

The Countess of Wolverly was radiant. Her slender figure graceful as she moved about the rolling ship and blonde curls piled high on her head and fluttering ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Her sharp eyes took everything in and sparkling as if she knew something no one could possibly know. Voluptuous lilac skirts swished as she moved, her bodice embroidered with fine gold thread and speaking of inordinate wealth. Around her neck hung a solid golden necklace, ornate leaves framing dark purple stones that caught the fading rays of light and echoed the warmth of her eyes.

Stiles had caught Boyd hastily climbing the rigging when the Earl’s carriage had come into sight from where they had docked. Now he was watching from the crow’s nest, eyes tracking Lady Wolverly’s every move just like every one else aboard _The Liberty_. Despite being in the company of a countess, the seating arrangements remained somewhat informal as they headed into the great cabin. Of course, Stiles offer Lady Wolverly the seat to the right of his own but the rest were filled in without any consideration of rank or status.

Master Parrish took the seat to the other side of the countess, for which Stiles was especially grateful – he could at least trust Jordan not to say anything entirely improper. Derek took the seat across from her, which of course, put him to Stiles’ left. The two of them were clearly acquainted, Derek asking after her family and such.

“So tell me, Captain,” Lady Wolverly begun. “What exactly drew you to the life of piracy?”

“Coincidence, mostly,” Stiles replied with a forced smile. “The ships I was on was attacked and boarded so rather than meet my fate at the bottom of the ocean, I opted to join them.”

“And why are you so keen to corrupt my husband?” she smirked, eyes light and teasing.

“Well for that you should ask Master Parrish, here,” he replied, gesturing to Jordan, who proceeded to tell the countess all about the charming little tavern he wished to run with his lass. Lady Wolverly listened in amusement.

“What do you think of her?” a quite voice suddenly whispered in the vicinity of Stiles’ ear as the countess laughed at something Jordan had said. Turning slightly, he noted Derek had shuffled his chair right to the corner of the table and was now leaning in to Stiles, eyes fixed on Lady Wolverly.

“She reminds me of Laura,” Stiles confessed.

“That what I always thought! Something about her fearlessness I think, the way she seems to know everything without having to be told.”

“It’s the eyes.”

“The way they see right through you,” Derek agreed. “Don’t you think she’d make a fearsome pirate?”

“I don't doubt that she would. Quite why she would want to though, I’ve no idea.”

“Maybe life gets a little boring on land,” Derek suggested. “God knows with Isaac gone most of the time she has very little company.”

“So she’d prefer the company of pirates?” Stiles queried, turning to look at Derek only to realise just how close they had gotten. The other man was close enough that Stiles felt the small sigh that escaped his lips as their eyes met. There once was a time when they would lie close together, faces just this far apart and watch each other, marvel simply in the other’s existence.

“I’ve found pirates to be the best sort of company,” Derek confessed, voice barely a murmur but the only sound Stiles could hear save for the pounding of blood in his veins.

“She’d have to give up everything – her whole life, her family, her friends,” Stiles pointed out, not entirely sure they were speaking of only the countess anymore.

“Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe if she had to choose between Isaac and rest of her life… Maybe she’d choose him. Maybe that’s what would make it worth it.”

“Isaac would never make her choose, he’d stay by her side no matter what.”

“Well then maybe it’s her choice and she wants the adventure, wants to break away from the confines of polite society and revel in the freedom that comes with the life of a pirate.”

“And what of the dangers? Has she contemplated those? The battles and the storms and the constant threat of the navy on our tail?”

“Aren’t they what makes this life exciting?”

“They’re also what can _end_ your life.”

“At least she would have known real life before she died – she wouldn't be trapped in stuffy rooms, entertaining meaningless guests and going to an empty bed at night whilst the person she loves is risking his life a sea.”

“Derek-” Stiles was cut off.

“ _Captain_ ,” Jordan said, clearly having needed to repeat himself. “Lady Wolverly is wondering what exactly is so important about a sailing master.”

“A sailing master? Well you see, my lady,” Stiles began, shoving the previous conversation into the back of his mind as he leaned away from Derek and towards the amused looking countess. “They are an essential part of any crew, in charge of the navigation of a ship and require great skill as often the charts of these waters are inaccurate or incomplete – sometimes missing all together. If there is one thing I will give the navy credit for is that they certainly train their sailing masters exceptionally well – Parrish was a naval sailing master too before he joined us. Finding good sailing masters is no easy task,” Stiles explained. “Therefore when your husband found his way onto our ship, I could not pass up the opportunity to offer him a permanent place on board.”

“And what of me? Am I expected to sit at home waiting anxiously to hear word from him? Or for the navy to inform me of his demise?” she questioned.

“Not at all, my lady – as you can see, we are not strangers to having woman aboard. Our master gunner and our surgeon are both women and we have several woman in the main body of the crew – Romero, Dawson, Custer…” he listed. “If you wished, you could join us too. Of course you would have to pull your weight somehow – perhaps as a cook or seamstress if you do not wish to become a sailor,” he elaborated. “I’m afraid on board a pirate vessel we must all pull our weight.”

“And what of the other women?” she asked, gesturing to Lady Cora and Miss Argent.

“They were merely accidental captives,” Stiles shrugged. “Lady Cora is actually staying on with us so will also be learning the ropes – so if you did chose to come with us, you would have a companion.”

A few seats down from them, Kira choked on her wine.

“You’re staying?” she turned to Cora, eyes wide and betraying emotions she had fought to keep hidden. Cora merely nodded before Kira pushed back her chair and fled the room. The duke’s daughter turned in confusion to Stiles, who waved his hand after Kira.

“Go!” he ordered and Cora stood up to, napkin falling to the ground as she ran after the first mate.

“About bloody time,” Derek muttered and Stiles could not help but agree, although Derek’s lack of reaction to Cora staying did surprise him somewhat.

**⌘**

By the time everyone had eaten their fill, the wine bottles had been emptied and the noise in the great cabin had risen from polite chatter to the ruckus of drunken giggles and loud exclamations. Isaac had shoved Jordan out of his seat and was now in whispered conversation with his wife; Jackson was arguing with Lydia, faces far too close together; Miss Argent was enchanting Liam with a story about her time on _The Deliverance_ whilst Scott was well into his cups, drunker than Stiles ever recalled seeing him. Derek had not spoken a word to Stiles since there discussion about the countess that really had nothing to do with the countess, preferring to engage Braeden in a debate about the proper treatment for seasickness. Cora and Kira had yet to return.

“I think,” Isaac suddenly bellowed, drawing everyone’s attention. “That you have a new sailing master!” Beside him the countess smiled broadly. “My wife is adamant that Parrish be allowed to marry his lass and help her with her tavern… so we really don’t have a choice.” Jordan grinned stupidly at them, clearly delighted by their decision.

“A toast! A toast!” Scott crowed. “To our new splendid sailing master and his beautiful wife! May you forever try to fill the boots of your predecessor, the great Master Parrish!”

A round of ‘cheers’s and ‘aye aye’s followed as Scott and several others threw back the entire contents of their glasses. To Stiles’ left, Derek remained silent.

“It seems she made her choice,” Stiles finally murmured over the din of congratulations and teasing of the new additions to the crew.

“That she did,” Derek sighed. “She put her heart before her head.”

Stiles was dying to ask whether this would mean Derek himself had a reason to stay but the words simply would not leave his lips, too afraid of what the answer might be. Instead he grabbed his glass and joined in the second round of toasts, ignoring the fact that Derek’s eyes stayed locked on him.

**⌘**

“May I come in?” a voice asked from the door way and Stiles looked up from where he was nursing a hangover over the account books to see Jordan hovering in the doorway. As the older man limped over to Stiles’ desk he was suddenly hit with the realization that Jordan was really leaving. The man that had been with Stiles almost since the start of his captaincy, who had been his last link to his past, who had guided him whenever Stiles became overwhelmed with it all, who taught him the real tricks of the trade… he was leaving. Starting a new life where he would no longer be at Stiles’ side. “So I guess this is it, huh?” Jordan chuckled at little sadly.

“I would never have made it without you,” Stiles replied in a moment of complete honestly.

“Eh, you’re tougher than you look, kid.”

“It’ll be strange, not having you on board – I’m sure Isaac’s a nice lad but he’s never going to be you.”

“I think the two of you will get on just fine,” Jordan chuckled. “And you know there’s always a room at The Hound’s Head with your name on it.”

“I’ll be sure to make use of it,” Stiles promised. “Now get – go get your girl and finally make an honest woman outta her,” he teased, voice thick with emotion.

“She better bloody say yes, or you’ll have to take me back,” the older man laughed.

“Like she’d ever refuse you!”

“Goodbye kid, and I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Jordan pulled him into a hug.

“S’not like I ever stay away from Tortuga long.”

“And tell Derek how you feel,” he ordered. “Lord knows the tension between the two of you will drive the crew nuts otherwise.”

“What if he doesn't stay?” Stiles finally voiced his fear out loud.

“Like there’s anything that could draw him away,” the sailing master rolled his eyes. “Now, I expect you’ll sail with the morning tide so I won’t be seeing you before that – I’ll take Miss Argent and set her up in town until we can get her passage back to England,” he promised. “Take care of yourself lad.”

“You too,” Stiles quickly tugged him in for one last hug before releasing him and turning back to his desk, hiding the emotions from his mentor.

**⌘**

Not long after Jordan and Miss Argent had disembarked, the door to the great cabin opened again, just as Stiles was putting away the account books he had been adding to. Derek tumbled in, gangly limbs somehow still graceful despite tripping over themselves. He was in the process of asking Stiles whether Isaac and Erica would be taking Jordan’ old quarters when Stiles cut him off.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Stay. Please – I’ll make you a mate or something, I know its nothing like being Lieutenant but- the crew already look up to you and it’ll be nice for Lahey to still have a familiar face…” Stiles trailed off, not daring to actually look at Derek after his ramble.

“And what about you? Do you want me to stay?” he asked, voice quiet and emotionless. Stiles bit back a retort about not asking if he didn't mean it and finally turned to face Derek.

“I do,” he confessed.

“Then I’ll stay,” Derek sighed. “For now.” And that was that. “Now should I put their stuff in Parrish’s quarters or somewhere else?” he asked, returning to his original topic as if he hadn’t just brushed aside the concerns Stiles had been plagued with since Derek came aboard.

“Take them to Parrish’s quarters and you can bunk with Liam now that Scott can move back into his cabin. It’s the second door on the left as you enter the mess hall,” he explained. “The guy’s an annoying little sod but he won’t gut you in your sleep – or fill your bed with leeches like Martin would.”

“Thank you,” Derek nodded, then his face turned strangely solemn as he added: “Captain.”

**⌘**

Being back in his own quarters was somehow far less appealing than Scott would have anticipated. The bitter knowledge that he was only alone now because she had left hung heavy in his gut. He could not say he would miss Liam’s constant mutterings in his sleep or his tendency to roll out of his bunk in the middle of the night… But he would miss Miss Argent’s laugh floating on the sea breeze and the witty retorts she would murmur under her breath at meals when she thought no one was listening. He did not know how, or when, but somehow the lass had wormed her way into his heart in a way he could never have foreseen.

He had watched from the crow’s nest earlier as Parrish waved goodbye to the crew as he was rowed ashore, the dainty figure of Miss Argent partially hidden behind him. He had not said goodbye. Could not bring himself to form the words and look her in the eye knowing he would never see her again. It was not often that Scott questioned his way of life but for those brief moments as he watched the woman he had grown to love drift away from him across the rolling waves, he wondered if maybe he wasn’t sacrificing more than he realised.

Above him, the increased noise levels indicated it was almost time for them to dock and release their prisoners before setting sail away from this godforsaken port. Stiles had not made any solid plans of where they were heading to next incase word should get to one of the navy men locked in the brig but the boatswain suspected they would be heading for _Isle de Liberdade_ , which meant they would not be returning to these waters and especially not to Port Royal for quite some time.

Across the mess room, Isaac and his wife were shifting furniture and dragging trunks about as they settled into their new quarters. Scott had been relieved yet unsurprised to hear that Derek had also decided to stay on board with them, despite his insistence that it was only temporary. Kira and Lady Cora had emerged with pink tinged cheeks earlier that morning to bid farewell to Parrish and Miss Argent but had disappeared again soon after. He could not begrudge the first mate’s happiness despite it conflicting so markedly with his own.

The woman she loved had chosen to stay. The woman he loved had chosen to leave. There was no one he could blame for those facts. He would simply have to accept them and move on.

Running a soft, cream coloured ribbon through his fingers, Scott found himself recalling the time she had allowed him to weave it into her hair. It was one of those stolen moments, a fragment of time in which he had allowed himself to believe that she felt as strongly for him as he felt for her. The way her eyes would follow each move he made and that secretive smile that always made him feel like he was in on some great joke even though he had no idea what that joke might be. Perhaps he had been a fool to let her go without telling her how he felt. But it was too late for such thoughts now.

A ruckus from on deck alerted Scott that the prisoners were disembarking. Shouts and yelling could be heard from each direction. Men stamping and running across wooden planking. Then the sharp tug of wind catching in the sails. The lapping of waves breaking against the bow.

They were on their way.

A tear slid down the boatswain’s cheek, startling him a little as he clutched at the godforsaken ribbon. It was all she had left. His birth had been immaculately cleaned and tidied when he had returned to it, far more so than it had ever been before. And that one damned ribbon was all that was left to reminded him of the woman that had captured his heart and then left him cold.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, scrubbing his face as a few more tears begun to fall.

Just then the door of his cabin swung open, causing him to shoot backwards in surprise and hit his head on the edge of his bunk.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the hand that had been wiping away his tears reaching around to massage the back of his head. Then he looked up. “Oh fuck, I thought you’d gone!”

“Oh, sorry,” a tantalizingly familiar voice apologised. “I didn't realise you would be in here, the Captain said it was alright for me to put my stuff back here but I’m sure I can find somewhere else…” Miss Argent trailed off, staring a little wide-eyed at the boatswain. “Are you alright?” she asked, lowering a case to the floor and hesitantly coming to kneel beside him. Her gentle fingers pried his hand away from his head and tilted it so that she could inspect the damage.

“How hard did I hit my head because I’m pretty sure you are supposed to be with Parrish back at Port Royal so either I am hallucinating or we haven’t actually set sail yet and I hallucinated that bit so either way I think I’m hallucinating which is really not a good sign is it-” Scott rambled, completely at a loss as to what was going on.

“Relax, you aren’t hallucinating anything but you may want to see Braeden about that bump,” Miss Argent replied, fingers still delicately fluttering over the bruised area, more for want of contact than actually inspecting anything.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked bluntly, eyes fixated on her face.

“Well, Master Parrish took me ashore and set me up in a nice room in a respectable inn and suggested I get cleaned up and put on some more suitable clothing and as I was standing there, trying to tie up my corset I wondered what on earth I was doing… You see, there isn’t anyone waiting for me in England, there is nowhere I would be sure of a welcome, my prospects are incredibly bleak as my grandfather’s name is more likely is evoke fear than respect… not to mention corsets are devilishly uncomfortable and so there was really absolutely nothing to tempt me back to England.

“All my life I have been longing for freedom – freedom from my grandfather, from the expectations and rules of the society I was brought up in, from the prospect of an loveless marriage with a man twice my age… I thought that when my grandfather died I would get my freedom but then I found myself kidnapped by pirates and I thought I would have to wait a little longer. As it turns out, whilst I was sitting in that respectable inn trying to tie my corset, I realised that the life I was heading to was not freedom. That I had, in fact, already found freedom. And it was here, within the wooden constrains of this ship,” Miss Argent replied, face pulled into an odd expression, almost like she was amused at herself.

“So you came back?” Scott confirms.

“Well I figured I still had a lot to learn and who better to teach me than the one person who has always made me feel like more than just a pretty face,” she responded, expression suddenly serious. “If, of course, he doesn't mind teaching a novice like myself.”

“Miss Argent-” Scott started.

“For god’s sake just call me Allison if you call me Miss one more time I will give Braeden another bruise to look at,” she sniped.

“ _Allison_ ,” Scott begun again. “I would very much like to kiss you now but I’m a little afraid you’re going to sock me the ba-” this time Scott was cut off with a kiss as Allison curled the hand she still had by his head into his hair and pulled him closer. There was nothing earth shattering about the kiss, it was just a clumsy bump of lips and noses from two people who didn't yet know their way around each other’s bodies, but the giggles that interrupted it and the smiles on both their faces that caused their teeth to click together was more than anything either could ever have dreamed of.

**⌘**

“So where are we headed then?” Jackson asked, taking his usual perch on the side of Stiles’ desk and picking up a compass to fiddle with.

“Take a guess,” the Captain smirked, knowing full well that his quartermaster would despise their destination. Sure enough, the man emitted a groan when he saw where Stiles had placed his finger on the map before him. _Isle de Liberdade._ The home of the lawless.

“Is this going to become some kind of right-of-passage every time we recruit new crew members?” Jackson muttered, expression sulky.

“What a genius idea!” he teased his friend. “But no – we’ve been gone too long, the lads want to see their families and Braeden keeps sending me pointed glances when sharping her tools,” the Captain explained. “Besides, the navy wont find us there and we need to lay low for a while.”

“I see.”

“Jacks-”

“No. I do. I understand. I don't have to like it but I do understand,” the quartermaster sighed. “But you won’t mind if I stay on board whilst we’re anchored?”

“Well, we’ll probably have to beach her to do some repairs but when she’s back in the water of course you can stay here,” Stiles promised. “And I swear I’ll do all that I can to keep that woman away from you,” he added on, half amused and half pitiful.

The two said no more on the topic and instead bowed their heads over the map, marking the most likely places naval vessels would be stationed between their position and their destination. Not long after, Stiles called for someone to fetch Isaac and the plotting of their route began.

**⌘**

“Your quartermaster is in a bit of a foul mood,” someone observed from the rigging just above Stiles’ head. Glancing up he spotted the faintly amused face of one Mr Hale. “What’s up with him?”

“He’s sulking because he doesn't like our destination,” Stiles shrugged, eyes focused back on the sextant he was fixing.

“Oh, where are we going?”

“ _Isle de Liberdade_ ,” Stiles grinned, eyes sparkling as he glanced back up at Derek.

“Isle of the Free?” he frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Of course you haven’t – you've been in the navy. _Isle de Liberdade_ is a pirate haven. Not a place like it in the whole of the Caribbean – it’s an island owned by a rich widow who fell in love with a common pirate and they used it as a place to meet in secret before her husband died. The woman let her lover use the island as a safe haven and over the past decade or so the few beach huts grew into a town of sorts. Pirates now bring their families there so they can live in peace without fearing the law.”

“A safe haven for pirates? Sounds like something Whittemore would enjoy rather than make him look like he’s sucking on a lemon,” Derek muttered, swinging down from the rigging and reaching over to point out the flaw in the compass that Stiles had been searching for.

“Yes, well, to begin with Jackson is very much a man of the sea – staying in one place for too long makes him restless and he finds it hard to shake his sea legs. Doesn't help that he’s got a wife that can nag someone’s ear off and treats him like shite despite the countless treasures he’s brought back for her over the years. Now I haven’t met all that many women with ugly souls but she – she is definitely one of the ugliest.”

“Whittemore is married?”

“And wishes every day that he wasn't.”

“But I thought…” the younger man trailed off. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“You thought what?”

“Well him and Martin always seemed… close?”

“Ha! Well that’s reason three that he hates the place – Martin’s fiancé lives there.”

“Oh. So he does have feelings for her?”

“From the moment she first bellowed the order to fire,” Stiles shrugged. “Won’t tell her though. Doesn't see the point when she’s got a bright-eyed lad waiting for her on shore and he’s still tied to his wife like a drowning man to an anchor.”

“That’s rough,” Derek snorted, resting his forearms on the gunwale and gazing down the length of the ship. For a moment Stiles thought he was about to continue, to say something poetic about star-crossed lovers, as the Derek he had known from childhood would have done. Instead though, the other man closed his eyes and tilted his face into the breeze, lips firmly sealed and mind already elsewhere.

**⌘**

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, sailors finishing off the preparations for the night before heading down into hull in search of food, when Derek first saw the boy. He had spotted him before, of course, even _The Liberty_ wasn't big enough to avoid a person entirely. But he had never been close to him, had never looked into his eyes or seen the way his lips quirked when something amused him. Derek had wondered about him, curious as to how such a young lad had found his way onto a pirate vessel and why on earth Stiles had even allowed him to do so. He had seen the ease with which the child laughed and chatted to the crew members, the affection that McCall and Whittemore seemed to pour upon him, despite the latter’s usual reserve towards other humans. There was something enthralling about the boy.

However, up until that point Derek’s mind had been too preoccupied with other thoughts – thoughts of Isaac and the love triangle he seemed to have landed himself in, thoughts of Stiles and the tension that was thickening like smog between them each time they tried to interact, thoughts of England, of home, of those he had left behind – to give a random ship’s boy all that much consideration.

So when it hit him, it left him utterly breathless – quite literally as the child that now looked up at him had accidentally run full force into his chest. He had buried an elbow right between Derek’s ribs in his hurry to escape McCall’s wrath for some mischief the he had inflicted on the boatswain.

Amber eyes suddenly filled with surprise, an apology blooming on the boy’s lips as he stared up at the relatively new addition to their ship.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Hale,” the boy muttered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure McCall had not caught up with them. “I didn't see you,” he shrugged, stance relaxing when he saw no sign of the boatswain.

Derek, however, heard not a word.

His mind had been thrown back in time, to summers running through fields and splashing in lakes. For despite the darker shade of his hair and the narrower lips, the face before him was one he would recognise even when he could no longer recall his own name.

“Are you alright, sir? Honest – I didn't mean to wind you!” the boy’s voice broke through the thick fog clouding Derek’s mind. “Please don't be angry,” he pleaded, genuine concern breaking over his wind tanned features.

“Hey, hey, its alright kid,” Derek finally managed to wheeze out, grabbing the gunwale for balance. “I’m fine – startled is all.”

“Kind of like a deer?” the boy’s face lit up. “I’ve never seen a deer but Master Whittemore has told me all about them, said they get this startled look on their faces when they hear something –” he rattled off but Derek was too enthralled by the way the boy waved his hands around to illustrate what he was saying to really pay much attention to the actual words being thrown his way.

“What’s your name, kid?” Derek managed to ask as the boy took a breath.

“’M Jamie, sir,” he grinned, sticking out his hand for Derek to shake.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Jamie,” Derek smiled, taking the proffered hand.

“I’m really sorry about running into you, you see, Scott didn't much appreciate his boots being filled with seaweed and I didn't much want to see his head explode – he turned bright red and all – so I was running away and I didn't see you.”

“Well Mr McCall’s head has always been a bit big so I guess it was bound to explode at some point,” Derek nodded, expression serious. The peel of laughter that erupted from the child simultaneously made Derek’s blood run cold and his heart beat race.

**⌘**

Stiles’ heart came to an abrupt stop when he caught sight of the upper deck. Two figures were silhouetted against the setting sun, laughter floating up into the darkening night as they bowed their heads conspiratorially.

During the weeks that Derek had been on board, he had done everything in his power – even roping in the help of Scott, Jackson and Cora – to keep these two apart. Because he knew them both. And he knew how easy it was to love them both. And he knew how easy it would be for them to love each other. And that was not the sort of heartbreak Stiles would wish upon anybody.

He had done it for selfish reasons too. Had not wanted to deal with the questions that would inevitably follow. Had not wanted to deal with the judgment in Derek’s eyes. Had not wanted to be forced to acknowledge that what Derek thought was of any importance to him at all anymore.

Yet watching them together, the way that Derek listened attentively to each word out of Jamie’s mouth and how Jamie gazed, already adoringly, up at Derek – it hurt. Not for the reasons Stiles thought it would, not because of the inevitable separation that would follow… But for the life Stiles suddenly wished he had. For the life that maybe, in some distant version of reality, in some other starlit world… could have been.

Eventually, when the sun had long since sunk below the horizon and the nighttime chill had begun to permeate Stiles’ jacket, Derek stood up. The two figures had fallen silent some time ago and Jamie had been lulled to sleep by the rocking of the waves and the calming presence beside him.

It was strange, really, how quickly Jamie had latched on to Derek in that way. Whilst he had always been an open and friendly child, it took some time for him to trust those around him – most likely as a result of his early years being brought up on the docks with a frequently absent mother. With Derek, however, there was an ease – a familiarity that could not quite be explained. Stiles suspected that it was the same _feeling_ that had drawn him to Derek when he was just a boy, innocent and hopeful.

Derek stooped down and wrapped his long arms around the sleeping child, lifting him up as though he were weightless. And it was only then that he realised he had an audience.

It was too dark for their eyes to meet but the silhouette of the Captain was not one Derek would mistake. Neither said a word as he walked by Stiles and headed into the cabin. In has arms, Jamie was still fast asleep, a hand curled into the weatherworn fabric of Derek’s jacket. God, Stiles sometimes forgot just how young he was. A boy grew up quickly when he lived on the docks, especially one that grew up in the environment Jamie had. He was wise beyond his years to say the least – but in sleep? In sleep all of that was washed away. He was just a child once more. Innocent. Hopeful.

Without a word, Stiles followed them inside, trailing behind them and only having to point out the direction once when Derek looked over his shoulder. Once they reached the small room that Stiles had reserved just for the boy, Derek lowered him gently onto his bunk before tugging off his shoes and jacket. Stiles picked up the blanket that had fallen on the floor and laid it over him, running his fingers softly through Jamie’s hair and tracing his cheek with his thumb. Derek mimicked him when he pulled away.

Climbing back out onto the deck, Stiles breathed deeply, readying himself for the questions he knew were to come. A few moments later, as predicted, Derek took a seat beside him on the gunwale and opened his mouth:-

“Why the _hell_ ,” he begun, voice hard and emotionless, “would you bring your _own son_ on board a _pirate ship_?” he asked, Stiles trying not to flinch at every stressed word.

And wasn't that the question.

“I didn't have a choice.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more of an explanation,” Derek snorted. When Stiles finally steeled himself to look up, he was met with a deep-set fury in the other man’s eyes. The soft Derek that had befriended his son and carried him to bed had vanished. In his place was a man who was furious at the idea of a young child being subjected to the horrors of the piratical way of life; who was struggling to come to terms with the idea that the man he thought he had known would have allowed for such a thing to happen to his own _son_ ; and all the while trying to block out the pain of knowing without a doubt that Stiles had been in the arms of another, of someone that wasn't him.

It was irrational, and Derek knew it. He knew that Stiles would have been with other people- _he_ had been with other people. The jealous rage that flared up in him was stupid. Hypocritical. _Pointless_. But seeing Stiles’ face mingled with the faintest touch of features he didn't recognise – it _hurt_.

“His mother is dead. Died of consumption almost two years ago now. Not that it made much difference,” Stiles shrugged, voice bitter. “Caitlin was her name. She was a- uh… well- she was a whore. For a few years after I left… I didn't make the best choices Derek. I was scared and lonely. And I thought that I could fuck the memory of you out of my system. Turns out I couldn't, but that’s beside the point.

“She was nice enough, pretty face – long dark hair,” he smirked sourly, side eyeing the loose wisps of Derek’s hair that had escaped his braid. “Anyway, I went back to her a few times, she worked at a local bar as well so she wasn't seeing all that many, uh, customers. Eventually I stopped seeing her around but I didn't really think much of it… It wasn't until a few years later when a tiny little boy ran into my legs, almost knocking me flat on my ass that I realised what must have happened.

“You remember that family portrait that my father commissioned when I was about two? The one hanging in his study? You used to mock me about how chubby my cheeks were…” he trailed off, shaking himself. “Well it was like I was back home, standing in front of that painting and looking at my two-year-old self. He looked just like me. There was no mistaking it.

“So I told him I needed to see his mother – just to make sure it was her, you know. That was the only explanation I could think of. So he took me back to the pub she used to work at and sure enough, it was her. She almost ran when she saw me, especially when she saw little Jamie was with me.

“I gave her money, support for the child, even offer to marry her- she refused the marriage idea but thankfully accepted the money. I made sure to come back as often as I could, to help her out, to see him. God I fell in love with that little kid so easily, easy as breathing really.

“Anyway, when Jamie was about six, I came looking for him and his mother only to find him living on the streets. His mother had died a few weeks before and there was no one there for him – nothing, no support, no food – he was begging and stealing and my god Derek, he was so thin. I can't even bare to think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up when I did,” Stiles choked out thickly. “There was no way I could leave him there, Derek, no one would take in a bastard child, let alone a pirate’s bastard. Wouldn't trust me to come back and pay ‘em. I didn't have a choice.

“Jackson was furious. Wouldn't speak to me for a fortnight. Told me I was reckless and selfish and the worst part was that _I knew that_. I know that a pirate’s life is no life for a child. But what else was I supposed to do? I don't have any skills, save for sailing. None of the merchants would’ve taken me on with a child. And despite the navy being a permanent threat and the occasional boarding of other vessels – it’s not too bad on board. _The Liberty_ is my home. Everyone is well fed, they have somewhere to sleep, there’s a degree of order. There are far worst ships he could have been on. And I was the Captain so it wasn't like I was going to be rough on him…

“A life at sea is better than the life of a street urchin, Derek. In the end, there was no choice.”

Neither spoke after that, not for a long while. There was too much to process, too much to comprehend. Derek was battling with his thoughts, struggling to think of a different solution, one that did not involve subjecting a seven-year-old boy to the violence of piracy… but he could not. And Stiles understood; despite his reasoning this was still not the life he would ever have wanted for his son. It was violent and dangerous and unpredictable. But the alternative was simply worse. Starvation. Loneliness. Death.

“He doesn't know,” Derek finally stated.

“That I’m his father? No. No he doesn't know,” Stiles muttered.

“Why not?”

“I just… I don't know, really. It didn't seem appropriate when he was younger and his mother was still alive and then once she was gone, he was on the ship and I just… I never found the words,” Stiles confessed. He had not actually given it all the much thought, he blocked it from his mind every time he wanted to hear Jamie call him something other than ‘Captain’ or ‘sir’. It was easier this way. This way he wouldn't disappoint him.

Derek looked at him strangely and in a way, Stiles thought that maybe he understood.

They said nothing more after that, both watching the waves in the darkness for a while before Stiles eventually got up and headed inside. Glancing over his shoulder, he took in the picture of Derek sitting on his ship, face tilted towards the breeze and a far away expression on his face. It was like he wasn't even there, like he was a million miles away.

And it was true, in a way. Maybe not a million miles but definitely a fair few. His mind picturing green grasses and wild flowers, the small brook at the back of the garden, iridescent emerald eyes that stared up at him in wonder…

**⌘**

“Ladies, gentlemen,” Stiles hollered over the din on deck, bowing tauntingly towards Cora, Erica and Isaac. “And all you other miscreants,” he grinned as the rest of the crew cheered wildly. “I suspect some of you are wondering about our destination…” a loud murmur rose up from the sailors. “Well it is my delight to inform you that we are homeward bound, lads!” he yelled, grin stretching across his face as the ruckus below him amplified. “So bring up the rum barrels! Tonight we’ll dance for the devil,” he laughed, happily clapping some of the crew on the shoulder as he made his way back through them.

Heading back to _Isle de Liberdade_ was always a cause of much celebration for the shipmates. Many of them had families there and whilst they lived for the sea, it was nice to set foot on shore for an extended length of time every now and then. It had been just over two years since they were last there and some of the crew had been getting a little impatient for their return.

Tonight was one of the few nights Stiles allowed the rum to flow freely, rather than the rations he normally imposed. It was a night of celebration, a night to let the constant fear of capture ebb away. They were going home.

Normally, Stiles would try to moderate himself; he was in charge of the ship after all. But tonight Jackson had volunteered to stay dry so Stiles could let himself go a little. He had not realised just how tightly wound he had been, until the first few drinks took the edge off. Having so many reminders of his past on board was not always easy to deal with.

“You alright, Captain?” Scott chuckled, watching Stiles wipe his mouth with the back of his hand after hurling over the gunwale. The older man simply groaned in response. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one who can't hold their liquor – your _green eyes_ just spilled his guts all over Lahey’s feet. Classy pair you make.”

“Where is ‘e?” Stiles frowned. He had barely seen hind or hair of Derek since the previous night. Did the idea of Stiles having a son repulse him that much?

“Last I saw he was heading back into the cabin, so you might want to go and check he doesn't vomit all over the dinning table or anything,” Scott snorted, hand waving absentmindedly towards the cabin entrance. “Kid’s been looking mopey all day, what did you do to ‘im?”

“He met Jamie,” Stiles shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and failing miserably.

“And that has put him out of sorts because…?”

“Jamie’s my son,” Stiles confessed. If Derek knew then the whole world could know for all he cared.

Perhaps he _had_ let the rum flow a little too freely.

“Never thought I’d actually hear you say it,” he snorted again. “Everyone knows, by the way – he’s literally your spitting image and you treat him like he’s made of gold.”

“He’s worth more than gold,” Stiles muttered. “Worth more than all the gold on the seven seas.”

“Glad to hear it – just maybe don't go telling all the crew that,” Scott advised. “Now why don't you go check up on your _green eyes_ , eh? Make sure he isn’t getting up to any mischief.”

“You’re the best, Scotty,” Stiles mumbled. “I know I’m not very good with, ya know, that- expressing myself bullshit – they don’t call me Blackheart for nothing… But you’re the best. Dunno what’d do with out ya.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, mate,” Scott smiled, one of his rare, soft smiles that belied how much Stiles’ words actually meant to him. “And you’ve got the furthest thing from a black heart I’ve ever seen. Don’t go believing your own stories now.”

“G’night, I’m gonna go ‘nd find Derek now, okay,” Stiles informed him, stumbling a little as he rightened himself before he made his not-so-straight way towards the cabin entrance.

Scott had been right, Derek was lying sprawled out of the window bench at the back of the cabin. His hair had come completely loose from its braid and was fanning his head in a glorious halo, his limbs haphazardly thrown across the seat. Turning his head slightly upon hearing someone enter, he could not help but smile at the sight of Stiles. The other man’s hair was sticking up in all directions, his jacket had an assortment of unidentifiable stains on it and his gait was off-balance.

“Hey D,” Stiles sighed, coming over and slumping down on the bench beside Derek’s head.

“Hey Sti,” Derek murmured back. “You look like a hedgehog.”

“Excuse you, sourwolf,” Stiles chuckled, instantly thrown back to simpler times when the two of them would waste away hours down by the lake on Derek’s father’s estate, coming up with absurd nicknames and insults for each other. “I missed you today.”

“I’ve been right here,” Derek frowned.

“You were avoiding me… You’re always avoiding me.”

“I don’t mean to. I just- I never know what to _say_ to you,” Derek’s eyes were round as he tilted his head back to get a better view of Stiles. “I don't know what to do and its horrible because its _you_ , Stiles. I _know_ you. Or at least… I did.”

“You still do,” Stiles argued, the alcohol lowering his self-control enough so that he practically pouted. “I’m still the same person – I just live in a different world. It doesn't change who I _am_.”

“Yes it does,” Derek sighed. “And that’s okay. We were young and naïve back then – stupid enough to think that somehow we would make it. That society would let us continue to be us, never having to grow up and take any responsibility. You have responsibility now – and so do I. We aren’t the same people we used to be, Stiles.”

“We’ve grown up, D, yes I won’t deny that… but that doesn't mean we aren’t the same people. It doesn't mean we don't feel the same things,” Stiles sighed, fingers itching to cross the centimeters between them and entangle themselves in Derek’s hair. “I still feel the same things.”

“But Stiles-”

“No Derek-” Stiles cut him off, suddenly bursting with all the words he had been unable to say. “I mean it. Leaving home was hard, D, it was really hard… my father, my sister, I had to leave them behind. Leaving home was hard Derek…” he repeated, drawing breath. “But leaving _you_? That was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

“You were my world, D, you were my _life_. And I have thought about you every goddamn day, I lie awake for hours at night wondering where you are and if you’re happy. Every time I go into a port and see someone with even the slightest resemblance to you my heart twists and breaks all over again.

“And it’s worse because I know it’s my fault. Because I _left_. I left you behind. And I know I was doing it to protect you and at the time my reasoning seemed sound but D- I’ve never been one to regret things, not even as a kid… but you? Leaving you? Without so much as a word? I regret that decision every day. Without fail. I loved you then and I love you now and I will love you when my soul departs this world and probably beyond that. Nothing will ever change that.”

With the last few words, Stiles forced himself to look down at Derek only to see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, bring his hand up to Derek’s face and stroking his cheek softly. “Please don’t cry.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Derek finally choked out.

“What do you mean?”

“You never said- I didn't think you still felt that way.”

“Derek- Derek I asked you to _stay_ , I practically _begged_ you stay when Isaac decided to. Everything I’ve done since the moment you came into this cabin for the first time was in the effort to make you comfortable, to make you realise that despite the shit I put you through I still cared.”

“But you never _said_ -”

“Yes I did- the boy, the one who gave me the bread when I was locked in the brig of _The Deliverance_ , I told him to give you a message.”

“I thought that was just you saying thank you.”

“You’re an idiot. I love you. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to put you in an uncomfortable position,” Stiles sighed, finally letting his fingers run through Derek’s hair. “I love you, Derek Sebastian Hale. I love you.”

“Take me to bed, Stiles,” Derek murmured, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of Stiles’ fingers on his scalp. Smiling softly, eyes warm and sleepy, Stiles stood up and took hold of Derek’s hand, leading him towards the Captain’s bunk that was adjacent to the great cabin.

The two men quickly rid themselves of boots and jackets and breeches, stumbling over themselves and giggling softly. There was more to say, more to talk about, more to tell… but for now they were both tired and intoxicated and desperate to hold each other. The stiffness and awkwardness that had filled all of their interaction for so long now slipped away as they slid into the soft sheets Stiles had commandeered from a wealthy merchant’s bed.

Stiles lay on his back, stretching his arm out to Derek and tugging loosely on his shirt to hurry him. Eventually the other man flopped onto the bed and cuddled into his chest, just as they had always done. Alcohol still humming through their veins, they lay there, warmth soaking through their shirts, peaceful and finally _home_. And so they fell asleep, Stiles’ fingers still combing through Derek’s hair.

**⌘**

Sunbeams streamed through the porthole, dancing across Stiles’ eyelids and beckoning him back into wakefulness. Reluctant to open his eyes, he merely basked where he lay, reveling in the softness of the sheets and the warmth of the body beside him. For the first time in far too many years, he had woken up with Derek in his arms, right where he belonged. His heart tightened, ready to burst with emotions he had suppressed.

Eventually he cracked open his eyes, blinking into the brightness and was greeted by the sight on sunlight catching in Derek’s hair, illuminating the different shades and making them shine like molasses. His eyes were shielded from the rays that had awoken Stiles as his face was pressed into the other man’s shoulder, his skin a shade or two paler but glowing warmly nonetheless. Even in sleep there was a soft smile tugging at his lips, a blissfully content expression adorning his face.

Stiles could not fathom how on earth he had ended up here, after everything that had happened and everything he had done. There was no world in which he deserved the man in his arms but he vowed there and then that as long as Derek wanted him, he would never let him go.

Eventually, eyelashes fluttered against the skin of his chest and a sleepy murmur emanated from Derek as he reluctantly dragged himself from the clutches of sleep. When his eyes were met with the sigh of warm tanned skin peaking through the opening of a faded white shirt, he froze for a moment before slowly tilting his head back so they he could look up at Stiles. There was the briefest flicker of uncertainty in those emerald eyes before Stiles smiled softly at him and his face was flooded with happiness – from the grin on his lips to the crinkles by his eyes and the flush rising in his cheeks.

And it was there, in his eyes – that _something_ , that _rightness_ that had been missing every time he had lain with anyone else like this. It was like he had been stumbling hopelessly in darkness ever since he had left and now here Derek was, smiling back up at him like he still felt the same way, even all these years later.

“Good morning,” Stiles murmured.

“Morning,” the other man replied, attempting to suppress a yawn.

The two men watched each other, lost in the very eyes that for years they thought they would never see again, relearning the stories behind them and simply marveling that they could have this again.

The bed was spacious enough for two people to lie in it comfortably without touching but they were squished to the far side, Derek lying half on top of Stiles, their legs intertwined. The sheets lay pooled by their waists and their shirts rucked up above them. Derek’s hand had managed to slip up and under Stiles’ slightly sweat soaked shirt, resting tentatively over his ribs and occasionally tracing his fingers across the warm skin.

Slowly, giving Derek ever chance to pull away, Stiles lowered his head, eyes still fixed on Derek’s and watching for any sign of uncertainty. When he saw none, he sighed a little before pressing his lips ever so softly against Derek’s.

It had been nine years since they had touched like this, nine long and painful years. But they melted away as their lips molded together and Stiles felt like he was finally coming home.

It was not perfect but it was just the two of them, finding themselves in each other. It was soft and gentle and so terribly tender. Stiles’ heart felt ready to burst, yet his hands stayed still as they held Derek’s face; his lungs were crying for air but he ignored them in favour of tasting Derek beneath his lips once more; his whole body was screaming to pull the man as close as possible, feel every inch of his skin pressed against Stiles’ and yet he didn't move save for a gentle caress of Derek’s cheek.

When at last they pulled away they stared at each other for a long, fragile moment before Derek opened his lips and let out the faintest, most desperate plea of: “ _Stiles_.”

And then all the emotions that had been trying to overpower Stiles broke free of the damns he had locked them behind as he sat up and dragged Derek into his lap, pulling him as close as he possibly could. One hand wrapped firmly around his waist and the other came up to grab his neck, pulling him down so he could seal their lips together once again – more demanding than before, desperate, trying in vain to merge their very souls together.

Derek whimpered beautifully, both hands coming up to tangle in Stiles’ hair as he kissed back with enthusiasm, opening his mouth obediently to Stiles’ demanding tongue. And god, Stiles _needed_. He needed to feel every inch of Derek against him, needed to feel his heart beating beneath his fingertips, needed to reassure himself that Derek was really here, here and with Stiles. Giving himself to Stiles as he had done all those years ago.

“Stiles,” Derek panted, pulling away so that he could pull his shirt over his head, long lines of muscle stretching tantalizingly, make Stiles’ mouth ache to run over each and every one. Tossing the shirt to the side, Derek reached for Stiles’ tugging up by the hem and over his head, no longer caring to be gentle. And then they were both naked, skin pressed against skin and falling back into their desperate kisses.

Stiles could feel Derek’s cock pressing up against his own, could feel the smearing’s of precome as they rocked their hips together, his fingers tightened bruisingly on Derek’s hips.

“Stiles, Sti- _please_ ,” Derek begged as they gasped for air, “I need you, need to feel you inside me,” he chanted, completely lost as he helplessly canted his hips against Stiles. “ _Please._ ”

“Oh _god_ ,” Stiles groaned, gripping Derek tightly so that he stilled. Somehow he managed to shift them over to the side of the bunk so that he could reach into the small trunk that was lying beside it. Flipping open the lid he rummaged through as Derek buried his face in his neck, kissing and sucking bruises along the tendon there. Finally finding what he was looking for, Stiles sat up again, pulling Derek’s mouth back to his as he popped open the lid behind his back and dipped his fingers in the oil.

“Stiles,” Derek whimpered as Stiles trailed his slick fingers down from the base of his spin to his hole. “God Stiles, _please_ ,” he begged. And it was the same words, the same pleading tone that Stiles had thought of every time he touched himself over the past nine years, every time he had lain with someone else, it was Derek’s voice he heard in his head. But no matter how often he had thought of it, nothing was quite like the real thing.

Slowly, gently, Stiles opened Derek up, deliberately avoiding that place that he knew made him see stars. Derek whimpered and moaned, clawing at Stiles’ back in desperation as he sunk onto Stiles’ fingers, muttering incoherently in his ear all the while, face tucked into Stiles’ neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” Stiles confessed, stroking Derek’s walls. “How have I lived a day without you?” he asked, thumb rubbing against Derek’s taint. “You are my life,” he whispered as he finally pulled his fingers out.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek whined, rocking his hips insistently now.

“Shhh,” Stiles murmured. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he promised, finally making Derek still enough that he could line up his cock and slowly sink it into Derek’s warmth. Derek remained completely frozen as Stiles filled him up, eyes rolling up into his head as bliss took over his features.

When Stiles was completely sheathed, he let Derek set the pace and for an excruciating minute, Derek did not move. Then he slowly, ever so slowly, rolled his hips and Stiles threw his head back in ecstasy. “ _Fuck_ ,” he cursed breathlessly.

Derek continued the steady pace, rolling his hips firmly and surely as he worked himself over Stiles’ cock, claiming it as his and only his.

“Only you,” Derek suddenly whispered. “Only ever been you.”

“What?” Stiles groaned out.

“Only ever been you that has touched me like this, has been like this – I’ve fucked women but no one but you has ever had been like this,” he muttered breathlessly, never breaking his rhythm. “Only ever been you.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles gasped brokenly. “I thought of you- every time I bedded someone that wasn't you, I thought of you, was the only way I could come, imaging your voice in my ear, you whimpered against me,” Stiles confessed.

“Never want it to be anyone else but you,” Derek stated, finally picking up his pace a little. “Don’t ever want to touch anyone else, don’t ever want you to touch anyone else,” he panted.

“I won’t, I promise, don’t want anyone else – never have,” Stiles moaned. “You’re the only one that has ever held my heart Derek and you will hold it till the day I die and for whatever else comes after that.”

“ _Stiles_!” Derek cried and they finally fell silent, too focused on the pleasure sparking up their spines as they rolled and rocked against each other. It did not take long. Years and years of pent up emotions and feelings spilling over as they relearned each other’s bodies. When Derek came, it was with a fragile whimper, face buried in Stiles’ neck. Stiles followed not long after, pressing kisses into Derek’s hair even through his orgasm.

When it was over they lay there, arms wrapped possessively around each other, neither willing to move or let the other go. They drifted in and out of sleep but never away from one another.

**⌘**

They emerged from Stiles’ birth hours later, Stiles somewhat surprised no one had come to check on him. Laid out on the table was a selection of bread and fruit, which they dug into happily, sitting close enough to touch and taking every opportunity to do so. Jamie charged into the cabin not long after, Scott right behind him, telling him off and desperately trying to catch him. Stiles chuckled when Scott spotted them, red tingeing his ears as he tried to make excuses. Jamie made himself comfortable on Derek’s lap, showing him a little wooden figurine one of the sailors had made for him. Backing out the door with a mumbled excuse, Scott left them to it.

“Who made you that?” Stiles asked, running a hand through his son’s hair.

“Danny,” he grinned, shoving it excitedly in Stiles’ face. It was a tiny little thing but looking at the detail it must have taken Mahealani hours to make.

“Do you know what it is?”

“It’s a wolf!” Jamie squealed. “He said he’s going to make a bigger one so my wolf won’t be lonely. Like a family, Danny says everyone needs a family, even a wolf!” Jamie said, making Stiles heart lurch.

“What about you?” he found himself asking.

“I have a family,” Jamie stated confidently, reaching over the table for an orange and making Derek peel it for him. Stiles’ heart was racing but Derek placed a calming hand on his shoulder, even for the briefest of moments, and he could breath again. Although Jamie’s next words completely decimated any control Stiles thought he had gained: “You’re my family.”

The air rushed from Stiles lungs, his heart hammering in his chest so loud he was convinced Jamie and Derek could hear it. Jamie was just inspecting his orange thoughtfully, completely unaware that he had overturned Stiles’ whole world. A hand on the back of his neck brought him back down to reality, anchoring him and Stiles had never been more grateful for Derek than in that exact moment.

“Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “Yeah, I am.”

Derek’s thumb continued to rub small circles into his neck as the three of them sat there, all lost in their own thoughts – even if Jamie’s was only what he was going to name is wolf. Nothing monumental had happened, the seas had not parted, the sky had not rained blood... and yet. Stiles felt like his whole world had shifted on its axis, clicking into place like it had been slightly off kilter all along. Beside him sat the two people he loved most in the world and for the first time since Stiles had set foot in his father’s study that fateful night, he felt truly and utterly at peace.

**⌘**

That evening the table in the great cabin was more crowded than anyone could remember it being in the past. Rules were a funny thing on a pirate ship, they existed and for the most part they were followed but they were also very easy to bend. Finding room for people to sit at the table who did not necessarily hold the rank to warrant a seat was one of the times Stiles rather liked bending the rules.

Derek was sitting beside him at the head of the table, Jamie once again perched on his lap; he was looking radiant, eyes sparkling with life like they had not done in almost a decade. Scott and Miss Argent were cuddled together beside him, lost in their own little world and the walls Allison had so carefully built up her entire life were crumbling around her.

On the other side of them, Jackson was regaling Liam and his friend Mason with stories that Stiles suspected were not entirely based in truth but were enthralling to listen to. The master-gunner was sitting across from him, Mahealani beside her, and for once her hard countenance had turned soft as she listened, making no comment and not ruining the pleasant atmosphere with another one of their arguments.

Isaac and Erica had settled into life aboard _The Liberty_ with astounding ease. Any concerns Stiles had about Isaac’s relationship with Boyd – who was one of Stiles’ most trusted sailors – were laid to rest when Stiles had stumbled upon Lady Wolverly cornering him in the mess hall earlier in the day.

“ _Don’t worry… I’m a little curious about you, too,_ ” had been Erica’s words as she had run a finger down the poor man’s chest. But Boyd had taken it in his stride, seemingly as entranced by her as he was by her husband. The three of them were now sitting at the other end of the table, enjoying Stiles’ finest wines by the looks of it.

Braeden was ruthlessly teasing Kira and Cora, who she had caught doing inappropriate things in her infirmary. The two were resolutely not looking at each other or any one else in their vicinity, although Stiles suspected their knees were still touching under the table.

His crew was happy, happier than they had ever been and Stiles could be nothing but be grateful and immensely proud as he watched over them.

**⌘**

Sunset found Derek and Stiles in the crow’s-nest, looking out over the water and simply enjoying one another’s company.

“Do you miss England?” Derek asked after several minutes of comfortable silence.

“Not really,” Stiles replied truthfully. “I miss my family but I could never go back to my old life, even if they’d let me. I’ve had a taste of freedom and I could never be parted from the sea.” The look on Derek’s face told him he understood the feeling.

“Do you remember, a while ago, you asked me why I joined the navy?” Derek asked, a frown furrowing his forehead. Stiles nodded. “I said there was an incident with a Duchess? Well the truth is it was actually a bit of a scandal – she was married to one of the most important men in the country but he had been away for months on a diplomatic trip.” Stiles nodded again, not entirely sure where Derek was going with this story. “Did you know, it’s actually surprisingly hard to cover up when a woman is with child?” he finally muttered, expression cloudy. It took a moment for it to click.

“You got her pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighed, nodding a little shamefully. “Not my proudest moment but oddly enough the cause of my proudest achievement. She’s six years old now, although I haven’t seen her since she was four,” he confessed, the agony of missing his daughter grow plain in his voice. “She lives with my mother, her mother’s family have absolutely nothing to do with her and to save myself from being strung up by her mother’s husband I was forced to join the navy. I love the sea, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't my choice.”

“But Cora never said-”

“She doesn't know, she think’s she’s the daughter of a distant cousin who had fallen on to hard times. Part of the reason my parents sent her out here to visit our uncle was so that she was away from all the gossip at court. People can be rather unpleasant,” Derek explained.

Stiles said nothing, not sure what there was to say.

“What I’m trying to say,” Derek continued. “Is that whilst I wish I could stay and sail the seas with you for the rest of my life – I have to go back. I have to go back for her.”

Stretching his arm around Derek’s broad shoulders, Stiles pulled him in closer to his chest, pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck.

“Maybe it’s time for the crew to explore new waters,” was all he said, carding his fingers through the loose strands of Derek’s hair. Tension ebbed out of him, out of them both, as they continued to watch the sun set. “After we’ve done some repairs, maybe it’s time to turn this ship Northward.”

“You’d sail to England? For me?” Derek whispered, voice awed.

“I would sail to the ends of the world for you,” was Stiles’ brutally honest reply. “As long as the sun rises in the east, I will love you,” he promised for the thousandth time since he and Derek had first fallen together but for the first time directly to him in nine years.

“As long as it sets in the west, I will be yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLR](http://taliskermortem.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also you can find edits of the characters and stuff related to this fic [here](http://taliskermortem.tumblr.com/tagged/tults/).


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